


Games Without Frontiers

by Morteamore



Category: Borderlands (Video Games), Tales from the Borderlands - Fandom
Genre: AI, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Eventual Romance, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Love Triangles, M/M, Pining, Psychological Drama, Slow Burn, Survival, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2019-03-02
Packaged: 2019-09-12 21:25:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 29,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16879458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morteamore/pseuds/Morteamore
Summary: Lost in the Pandoran desert, separated from his friends and plagued by a certain cerulean AI that happens to have taken up residence in his head, Rhys is certain his doom is impending. That is, until he meets a mysterious stranger whose definitely hiding more than a few secrets but seems sincere in his desire to assist the Company Man. Together, the three embark on a journey across the planet that will expose truths, unveil the clandestine, and ultimately seal fates. Blood and sweat will inevitably be shed on the worn and twisted path, as it wouldn’t be a Pandoran adventure if they weren’t. Hell, there could even be tears. Hopefully not Rhys’, if he has anything to say about it.----A primarily Tim/Rhys fic that takes place around Tales From the Borderlands Ep 2





	1. The Stranger

**Author's Note:**

> This is a project that's been on the backburner for some time, and that I add to when the inspiration hits. I have the first few chapters ready to go, but other than that, it's a bit vague and will hopefully unfold organically. I apparently enjoy the torture of writing by the seat of my pants, so...yeah. Tags may change down the road. 
> 
> Special thanks to those people who are always yelling at or poking me to write. You're all integral to the creative process in that regard. I wouldn't get anything done otherwise.
> 
> And since every story seems to create its own playlist, this one's can be found [here](https://8tracks.com/ashke-b/songs-without-frontiers)

Of all the things that Rhys had wanted to do in his life, dying was not one of them. He supposed nobody had that on their ‘to do’ list, but that night he was extra aware of the fact. Alone in the desert, huddled in a cave as the deep darkness engulfed the whole of Pandora, his body quivered in the freezing air. He’d scanned the cave for life with his ECHO eye, hunkering down when he found none, seeking warmth. There was not much warmth to swindle from the rocky structure, and so his body temperature was dropping with the passage of time. The nights might be short on the planet compared to its ridiculous day cycle, but they still held the danger that was so woven into its hide. Rhys was fearful of what was to become of him once he’d met his fate. Would anyone ever find his body in the middle of nowhere? 

Shit, he didn’t want to go out like this. He was young, he had so much potential. He had an artifact that was going to lead them to the Gortys project. 

Emphasis on had.

And he was alone. He didn’t want to die alone.

Well, he wasn’t _exactly_ alone, he reminded himself.

Rhys closed his eyes, his body shivering, teeth chattering. He tightened the grip he had around himself.

“Jack?” he asked, voice sounding hollow in the quietness of the cave.

Silence answered him. He sighed and opened his eyes, finding his face inches apart from a visage just glitching into existence. Yelping, he flattened himself against the cave wall until he realized the figure was a uniform blue and slightly translucent.

“The hell, Jack?”

The AI was squatting, hands on his knees, gaze sweeping over Rhys’ form. No answer came from him, but his eyes narrowed until they were slits.

“Er, hello?” Rhys’ brow furrowed. He wasn’t used to the man being so silent. It was unnerving.

Jack unfurled himself until he was standing at full height, his arms folding across his chest. Looking down at Rhys, he snorted.

“You really are a dumdum, aren’t you, kiddo?”

Rhys scowled.

“I’m doing the best I can, ok? It’s not like I have a…a manual. Don’t call me that, either.”

“Yeah, well, your best isn’t exactly *good* if it ends with both of us, ya know, dying.”

“You think I don’t know that?”

“I think there’s a lot you don’t know.” Moving his hands to his hips, Jack took a step in Rhys’ direction. “Like how to start a fire. Just look at all this drybrush. Perfect fuel source.”

Turning away from Rhys, Jack moved from the cover of the cave into the slivers of moonlight reigning down from the silent heavens. The silvery glint made him look even more transparent, his cerulean hue so faint that the desert terrain was a phantom image floating within him.

“That’s great. Drybrush. That’ll really help without a way to get it lit and keep it that way.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake- don’t you know a goddam thing about that arm of yours?”

“Yeah. It’s attached to me, after all.”

“Right, right. So that gives you infinite knowledge of exactly how it works.”

“If you’re implying that I don’t know-”

“Shut up.”

Looping his arms around his knees tighter, Rhys tucked his head against his legs, winding himself into a tight ball and letting out a low, muffled scream. Freezing and, now that he thought about it, hungry, he was sorry he’d called Jack out. The former CEO was nothing but a fetid source of frustration. The last thing Rhys needed right now was to be insulted and berated.

“Ugh, stop that,” Jack said. “What are you, twelve?”

Rhys looked up, lips pursed to answer, but then he thought better of it and just shook his head.

“Look, just gather some kindling and I’ll help you along with firing it up. It’s not so hard, Rhysie. You can even thank me later for teaching you something.”  
Stretching out his legs to get some circulation in them, Rhys didn’t answer. He just rose, arms going around his midsection as he sauntered out of the cave with careful steps. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Jack. The former CEO would make any attempt at saving his own life, however desperate, so Rhys was sure his plan was sound. It was just that he was wary of the night, what lurked on the surface of Pandora and below the sands. Everyone needed sleep, he supposed, but who knew what type of hours bandits and psychos kept? As far as other threats went, Rhys had no doubt that there were things under the planet’s unsavory crust that were just as deadly. Giant killer worms or flesh-eating insects, maybe. Shuddering, he imagined his footsteps disturbing them, their wriggling and slinking bodies waking up to the tremors that signified a snack was hovering just above their grotesque heads. It was paranoia, he knew. 

Mostly.

“Little faster, Rhysie. Come on, do you wanna warm that meat sack up or what?”

The drybrush was rough and sharp against Rhys’ cold hands. It hurt to carry, but he plucked away as much as he could and dumped the pile on the cave floor, eyeballing the amount. It looked like enough to keep an adequate fire going for awhile.

“Alright.” Jack was suddenly beside him. “Go into your settings….”

Jack rambled on, explaining the intricate processes of what Rhys’ arm was capable of. He didn’t really need the instruction, or the deconstruction of Jack combing through the fine details. Finally, though, the hologram came upon one of the more useful functions that Rhys had been previously unaware of.

“It’ll create the right amount of spark to light those babies up,” he told Rhys. “Try it.”

Flexing his cybernetic hand, Rhys looked at it as if contemplating its use. Then he touched the bundle of drybrush, powering up the function that coursed through his fingers, which started the fuel source crackling with heat. Within moments the pile was aflame, and Rhys raised an eyebrow.

“Not bad,” he said.

“See? I can teach you all kinds of shit, kiddo.”

Not responding, trying his best to ignore the despised pet name, Rhys sat back on his heels and looked to the heart of the fire. It coiled and twisted, leaving him fixated for quite some time. He didn’t know how long it was until he sprawled out and looked towards Jack. To his surprise, the ex-CEO was sitting back against the cave wall, or giving the illusion of doing so. One leg was stretched out and the other bent at the knee, his forearm draped over it. His face was furrowed deep in what looked more like contemplation rather than anything else; which was odd, considering his current state of existence didn’t seem to lend itself to introspection. 

“If this is what being a vault hunter is like, I think I’ll take a pass.” Rhys took another piece of brush and flung it on the fire, watching the flame rise higher for a second.

Jack’s eyes shifted over to the other man, narrowing.

“Are you a virgin?”

“Am I _what_?” Rhys blinked and sat up straight once more, his brow furrowing.

“Oh, you heard me, cupcake.”

“Why are you even asking that?”

With a snort, Jack’s lips peeled back from his teeth in a rictus. “Just making conversation. You’re totally a virgin, aren’t you?”

“N-no. I’ve had girlfriends.”

“How many?”

“I really don’t see how that’s your business.”

“Come on. What else is there to do to pass the time out here?”

Rhys licked his lips, cogs churning in his head as they tried to produce an adequate argument. There were several, he knew, but none Handsome Jack would probably be interested in. Well, maybe he’d like partaking in the art of watching asinine videos on the ECHOnet, but that was about it. Rhys almost thought about offering, but knew, going by his investment, Jack was more interested in the conversation at hand. He sighed and resigned himself to it.

“I don’t know. Three. Ish.”

“Is that including high school?”

Looking down, Rhys drew an abstract design in the dirt with his finger. “Yeah.”

“You bang all of them or…?”

“Huh? I guess so.” There was a dry, curt laugh from the man. “I got dumped right afterward in high school, so either I was terrible or being used.”  
“I’d say the former, cos you look like the kind of guy who’d be all awkward and flaily during their first time. Hell, probably still the same. Bet that’s why you’re single.”

“My career just became more important than my love life as I got older. I was the one ending up letting my partners go.”

Something about that seemed to ensconce Jack in a tight and restrictive embrace. He went quiet, eyelids drooping slightly as he seemed to stare at nothing, his demeanor appearing to be stuck between lethargy and concentration. It was as if Rhys’ words had drained a glut of energy from him and he needed time to recuperate. Soon, though, he was back to barraging Rhys with questions.

“You ever been with men before?”

Jack’s question made Rhys turn from the design he’d resumed drawing during the former CEO’S silence. There was a cough from him, a pregnant pause.

“Once.”

“Experimental?”

“I’d call it more not caring who I’m dating, as long as I’m attracted to them.”

“So you’re…pansexual?”

Rhys threw up his hands then rubbed them down his face. A small growl escaped him, loud enough to echo in the cave and sound menacing.

“What does it matter? What does all this matter?”

Jack’s voice dipped into something that was so obvious in its fallacy that he shouldn’t even have bothered feigning innocence. “I’m just getting to know my meat buddy.” 

The sudden, slow clomp of footsteps on the sand made all conversation cease. Jack stood at the sound, his movements swift and controlled. It wasn’t like he could do anything towards an intruder, but he could try to save Rhys’ hide. Rhys had heard it, too, spine going straight, body quivering. He didn’t say a word, didn’t realize he was holding his breath. The steps were coming closer and closer.

A figure appeared as if melting away from the darkness, tall and intimidating, decked out in a wild cross between bandit and civilian. The lower half of his face was covered by a metal apparatus that wrapped around the back of his head and ran up to his nose. The front was slitted with ventilation augments, which probably allowed him to breath and talk. Rhys couldn’t see his eyes, as they were covered by a grimy pair of reflective goggles. His deep brown hair was wild, shaggy and disheveled, streaked by gray. Most noticeable was a mark that was almost completely covered by his facial gear, the beginning starting at his left cheek and running to his right. It looked deep and craggy, rough to the touch. 

Despite the remnants of what had probably been a grievous wound, this was no true bandit. Even with his limited knowledge of Pandora, Rhys was able to recognize that fact. The clothing, though soiled and worn, was all too rational in arrangement, and the rifle strapped to the stranger’s back, with its wood grain stock and classic Jakob’s design, wasn’t drawn. By now it would be, no doubt aimed right between Rhys’ eyes. Or, even more ghastly, his brains would’ve already been splattered across the desert sands.

“Saw your fire,” came a distorted voice, the figure shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Kinda risky starting one out here where someone could spot it.”  
Jack’s eyes narrowed, but only for the briefest of moments. They were widening just as quickly, his fingers twitching, chest expanding and shoulders squaring as if he were an animal getting ready to defend its territory. He closed in on Rhys until he was standing behind him.

“We need to leave,” he said, voice dipped in venom and sharp as a serpent’s tooth. “Now. We can’t trust this guy, cupcake.”

Rhys, of course, couldn’t reply, but he *could* speak to the stranger. He found himself ignoring Jack as his tongue became unglued from the bottom of his mouth. 

“Yeah, I know.” 

But Rhys didn’t move. He continued to stand there, staring at the robotic contraption that covered the man’s face. It was fascinating as it seemed to have no practicality save for the ability to breathe in areas where the air might be toxic. 

“Why make that your business?”

“I’m just saying if I could see it, then bandits can see it.” The stranger ran a hand through his already tasseled hair, some sweeping over his brow so that the gray areas showed more prominently. With his shoulders dipping into a slump, it made him appear old and wary. “You wanna be caught out here by yourself in the middle of the night unarmed, then, shoot, knock yourself out.”

“This guy is bad news, Rhysie,” Jack said, his temper starting to bleed even deeper into his tone. He leaned in closer to Rhys, getting as near to him as he could without clipping through his skin. “We shouldn’t be sticking around here.”

Stepping forward, Rhys resisted the urge to wave Jack away, knowing that would make him look unhinged. The fact that he couldn’t see the stranger’s eyes or expression *did* make him uneasy. It wasn’t an uneasiness the set his fight or flight instincts off, though, so he didn’t try to leave. Where would he go anyway? Jack hadn’t thought that through too well.

“I don’t have much choice. It’s either risk having a fire or freeze to death.” Rhys crossed his arms. “What would you choose?”

“Arm myself and buy one of those hand-held heaters that don’t give off any light.”

“What an asshole,” Jack commented. “Why are we still here?”

“That wasn’t exactly an option.” Rhys’ arms dropped to his sides before he reached up and rubbed at the patch of ink stretched across his neck. He looked at his own reflection in the stranger’s goggles, which glimmered in the firelight.

“Considering you’re wearing that corporate get-up, I can tell why. What happened, locals refused to sell anything to ‘Hyperion scum’?” He made quotations in the air with his fingers.

“No, that’s not what happened.” Rhys made a quick decision on how much he was willing to share. “I got stranded here. That’s really all there is to it.”

There was a sound like a sigh that escaped the stranger, which came out deep and echoing from his robotics. He stepped forward, slinging his rifle from off his back, which made Rhys flinch and stick up his hands as if warding the man off. The stranger didn’t even consider his reaction and went about laying the gun carefully on the ground. Next to come off was his rucksack, which he set down with a thud and unzipped. His hand plunged into it, scrounging around.

“Bet you’re hungry, then. I have some MRE’s and a couple beers. Willing to share.”

Jack disappeared from existence and reappeared behind the stranger, peering at his supplies from over his shoulder.

“Well, he’s not lying.”

“Why are you trying to help me?” Rhys blurted out despite the rumble of his stomach at the mention of food. “I mean, I appreciate it, but that’s not exactly the Pandoran way. Most of you are filthy, blood-thirsty psychos.”

“Then I’ll tell you a secret: I’m not Pandoran. And stop generalizing. Not everyone here is the epitome of what you’ve witnessed and been told.”

Rhys raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

“Now, are you hungry or not, because if you’re not gonna accept, that means less I have to spend on re-supplying.”

It took him some time, but Rhys finally nodded. There was no way to tell the expression on the stranger’s face, but Rhys got the feeling it was one of amusement. That annoyed him. If there was one thing he had learned on Pandora so far, it was not to be impulsive, and for someone to mock him for that was discourteous. It reminded him of Jack and his often crude behavior. He said nothing, as he wasn’t sure if that was the reality. The stranger could be indifferent for all he knew. He decided he detested the mask the other wore and that the goggles were just as much a nuisance.

There was the sound of a cap being cracked open and then a bottle was being thrust into Rhys’ hand. Rhys looked down at the beer and noticed the stranger’s hands were gloved and larger than his own. For reasons he couldn’t fathom, that intrigued him.

“Drink up, it’ll keep you warm. Got an alcohol volume like the height of a soaring rakk.”

Rhys sniffed at the bottle and didn’t recoil, so he figured it was safe to take a sip. It was harsh going down, but he was proud that he didn’t choke. The liquid left a trail of warmth down his throat, which seemed to settle in his back and shoulders.

“That’s better,” Rhys sighed out as he was handed a sealed packet. He turned it over in his hands, reading the label. The words written there proclaimed it was a type of beef dish with snacks included and instructions on how to heat the food.

“Do you know how to use that?”

“I can read,” Rhys said, tearing open the package. He removed the snacks and the supplied cutlery, and was about to take the next step when he realized he didn’t have a necessary ingredient. “Uhm, this needs hot water.”

“Working on it.” The stranger pulled a compact device from his pack and poured a small amount of water from his canteen into it. Pressing a button, he waited a few moments before passing it over to Rhys by its handle. “Careful, it’s super hot.”

Using his cybernetic hand, Rhys grabbed it and emptied its contents into the package. It inflated a bit, the heat rising in an instant, and he sat back to set a timer on his palm. Jack appeared beside him, looking at the cooking food, then to the stranger, and finally directing his attention to Rhys.

“He’s not eating,” Jack said.

Without answering, Rhys looked over to their companion, who was busy going through his pack. He pulled out a hard case, opening it to reveal a tablet situated inside the cover. Stretching his legs out and lifting it to his face, he seemed to let it draw his full attention. Rhys brought up a holo screen complete with keyboard on his cybernetic palm, eyeing the stranger before typing to Jack, _maybe he already ate_.

“Or maybe that shit will knock you out.”

_Why wouldn’t he just have whacked me on the head when we first met?_

“Dunno. Maybe he needs an undamaged body. People on Pandora are all crazy. You should jump him and take his stuff.”

_And that’s not crazy? How would I even- where would I even go?_

“If you knock him out with that robo fist of yours, we could put some good distance between us.”

_In the desert at night while it’s freezing?_

“In the morning.”

Rhys let out a long-suffering sigh, but it didn’t make the stranger look up. He was either absorbed in his reading and oblivious to his surroundings, or he just didn’t find it grounds to question.

_I’m not doing that. What is it with you and this guy?_

“Just trying to save our asses, Rhysie. But fine. I’ll just go back to that warm, fuzzy place in your head and get a good laugh when I pop back up and you’re being sold on the slave market or something dumb.”

Not waiting for an answer from Rhys, Jack disappeared. The younger man was left waiting for his timer to go off in silence, and when it did, he removed the food packet from its container and the heated outer layer with a careful touch. Again, as he tore the packet open, it didn’t get a reaction form the stranger. Rhys would’ve suspected him of sleeping if he didn’t drag a finger across the tablet every now and then.

The food was warm instead of hot, but Rhys could live with that as it filled his empty stomach. It was a bit tough, but not bad, and in-between sips of his beer it went down easy. He finished it off quicker than he would’ve liked and went for the snacks, reading the labels. One consisted of chocolate, and he hoped it was of the decent variety, as he could really do with something sweet and decadent at the moment. Putting some pieces in his mouth, he chewed, savoring the taste when he found it to be to his liking. The other snack packs consisted of peanut butter and dried fruit, all of which he was glad to wolf down. Feeling satiated and in a more decent state than he’d been, he finished off his beer and sprawled out, the effects of the alcohol padding his mind as if it were warm cotton. The stranger looked over at last, regarding him with dark lenses.

“If you’re ready to sleep, I can keep watch.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“Don’t worry. I’m a good shot, and I don’t need much sleep, so I won’t doze off.”

Rhys nodded, exhaustion creeping up his body, seeping into his bones. That might’ve been partly from the beer, but he knew it was also the day taking its toll. At that point, he couldn’t bring himself to care what the stranger’s plans were, thinking only of the blissfulness of sleep. One thing popped into his mind, though, before he closed his eyes.

“Hey, by the way, you can call me Rhys.” He let out a soft chuckle as a wave of nervous energy roiled through him. “Can I call *you* something?”

The stranger hesitated, his obscured gaze going back to his tablet. Rhys wasn’t sure, but he swore the man’s voice was softer when he spoke again.

“I’m Tim.”


	2. Welcome to Hell

When Rhys awoke, the sun was up, once more ready to rain scorching hell down for the next several days. Tim had stamped out the fire they’d been huddled around, or so it seemed, and Jack was pacing a few feet away. When he noticed Rhys had risen, he sauntered over and squatted nearby.

“Our friend is missing,” he said, voice dry.

Rhys yawned wide and used his arms to push himself up halfway. He blinked a few times, eyes still laden with sleep. A soft grunt escaped him before he was hauling himself into a sitting position.

“What?” he asked, voice groggy.

Jack huffed. “I said your new friend ain’t here. And he left his pack behind. Let’s nab it and get out of here while we can.”

“Yeah, no. I’m not arguing about this again.”

Rising to his full height, Rhys set to dusting himself off, succeeding in removing most of the sand and dirt but smudging the rest. It gave his clothing a weathered look, as if he’d been roaming the desert for longer than he had. One side of his face was smeared with grime, leaving Jack smirking at his appearance. Rhys didn’t seem to notice as he looked around the cave, seeing right away that the one missing object was Tim’s sniper rifle. Maybe he’d run into trouble while Rhys was sleeping and Jack hadn’t manifested yet. Down in the pit of his stomach, something churned as he hoped that wasn’t the case. Tim was only one man with a single gun, and bandits and psychos came in packs. Rhys was not keen on finding a mutilated corpse once he left the cover of the cave, especially one of someone that had once been helpful.

Jack was behind him, about to speak, when Rhys heard the crack of a gunshot echo through the air. He left camp, hurrying over to the nearest dune before Jack could tell him how stupid that was, his ECHO eye activating as he surveyed the perimeter. Nothing out of the ordinary caught his attention, the ECHO overlay for the surrounding dunes reading:

_Analysis Complete_

_Sand_

_Environment: Desert. Not dessert with an extra ‘s’, because that would taste a whole lot better_

_Components: Mineral and rock. Not to be confused with gravel or silt_

_Probability of Killing You: Usually won’t. Only occurs with being buried or sinking in_

_Try not to get it in your underwear, providing you wear any_

Though it amused him for a moment, he continued to look around, flinching when another crack resounded across the desert followed by a shrill cry. Rhys couldn’t tell if it was human or not. As the air around them settled to silence, his eye zeroed in on a lone figure in the distance. Making its way towards the cave, it was dragging something behind it. Jack sidled up beside Rhys, putting a hand up to his brow to shield his eyes. It was a strange gesture for an AI, Rhys thought, but he guessed it was something programmed for realism.

“That must be our boy.”  
Rhys zoomed in, the details coming together as the figure got closer. He knew Jack was right when he saw the goggles and facial device, as well as the rifle strapped to the person’s back. Relief cascaded over him. For a bit there, he’d thought maybe a bandit had gotten the better of Tim and was dragging his dead body along.

“Oh man, I think he caught himself a nice one,” Jack said, his tone jovial.

“I hope that’s not a person.”

“You have a goddam ECHO eye and you can’t tell?”

“Tim is all…blocking the view with his body, ok?”

Standing on the dune until Tim was in range, Rhys waved at him as if he weren’t already in plain sight. He was met with a goggled stare that glinted in the sun before he received a small wave in return. Something about that made Rhys feel at ease, though he couldn’t pinpoint why.  
Tim was upon him before he knew it, and he hoisted the object he was carrying, letting it thump to the ground.

“Fucking,” Tim swiped at his brow, “skags.”

The creature at his feet was small for its species, but Rhys knew it had likely still been a nuisance. The smell coming off of it was nauseating. He didn’t know how Tim could stand there and be un-phased by it when he was fighting to keep last night’s dinner down. He covered his face with his hand, Jack getting a laugh, Tim staring. A distorted chuckle escaped the other man as well, but it wasn’t sharp and mocking like Jack’s was.

“You’ll get used to it.”

“What does that mean?” Rhys’ voice was muffled.

“It means I’m taking this back to the nearest town and getting some payment for my trouble. I would’ve taken the other, but I can only carry one. You don’t look up to hauling an adult skag around, either. No offense.”

“I have so many questions right now.”

“Save ‘em, kid.”

Rhys lowered his hand from his face and frowned, the rest of his body going rigid upon hearing the pet name. That was the same word Jack called him, though he’d tried to put a stop to that. It unnerved him hearing it come from Tim’s synthesized voice, triggering some kind of instinct that was evading his grasp. 

“Don’t call me that,” he said, voice too sharp and shrill. He cleared his throat. 

Tim was occupied with looking over his shoulder back at the stretch of desert he’d just come from. He turned to Rhys with a sharpness that spoke of surprise. 

“Ah, sometimes words like that just slip from my mouth,” he offered.

“Well….” Rhys tried to eye Jack without making it seem like he was looking at him before his gaze returned to Tim’s obscured face. Jack wasn’t paying attention to him anyway, arms crossed over his chest, lip curled upward. He looked amused and stern at the same time, head cocked to the side as if he were listening for something others couldn’t hear. The AI’s demeanor made Rhys suspicious, but his thoughts snapped back to the conversation. “Try not to use it.”

“Noted.” Tim left the skag where it was and entered the cave, kneeling by his rucksack. He pulled out a bullet case, slinging his rifle around to the front of him and loading six cartridges into the magazine. “You hungry?” he called to Rhys as he examined the weapon as if he were looking for flaws.

Rhys realized he was still full from the night before, which was a blessing with his metabolism. He could polish off full plates and still have room for dessert most of the time. He told Tim he was fine, and the other man nodded and picked up his pack, sliding it on to his shoulders before securing his rifle.

“Better get a move on, then. We still got awhile before it reaches boiling point out here.”

Jack muttered something, but Rhys couldn’t hear it. He decided to ignore him.

“We’re walking?”

“Sure. Town’s not far from here. Where do you think I came from?”

“I had other things on my mind. Like not dying, for one.”

Tim grunted in reply and made his way to the skag. Rhys wondered how he was going to carry it, if he was just going to drag it to their destination like he’d been doing earlier. But then he bent his knees and shoved his arms under its body, hauling it up and across his shoulders. Not having expected that, Rhys’ eyes widened, his imagination getting the better of him. With strange fascination, he could picture the sinew of Tim’s body beneath his clothing, the flexing of muscles. It made him look away, his cybernetic hand rubbing at the back of his neck.  
Behind him, Jack whistled and gave a curt laugh as if reading his mind. 

“Wonder how much he can bench press,” he commented. “Anyway, I’d rather not do the whole walking bit, so I’m out. Don’t worry, I’ll be back to check on you soon. You have fun with good ole Timmy, ‘kay, pumpkin?”

“Great,” Rhys said in a low voice, drawing the word out. Tim heard him anyway.

“Did you say something?”

“Oh, I’m, uhm, just talking to myself. Getting the dread out.”

“I can relate.”

“You’re bonding already. Cute.” Jack attempted to pat Rhys on the back but realized it was futile. “Bye.”

With Jack gone, Rhys returned his attention to Tim, only then realizing that the AI had withdrawn back into his subsystems by the time the other man had revealed his identity the night before. Huh, that was odd. As far as he knew, Jack wasn’t aware of anything going on in the tangible world if the AI wasn’t present for it. Unless he’d somehow gained the ability to read Rhys’ mind, or had stuck to the fringes of the living man’s consciousness for awhile, he shouldn’t have such knowledge. Rhys would have to question the AI once he saw him again. For now he’d push the unease back to the depths from whence it came and focus back on the present. He looked over to Tim, who was waiting for him with a stance that read as impatient. Rhys got his ass in gear, following the footprints left in the sand as the other man started out ahead of him. They walked in silence, Rhys sighing as he settled into the act of having to trudge through the desert with the heat bearing down on him. At least there was no risk of freezing to death and the planet wouldn’t reach apex temperatures until much later. Hopefully by then they’d have arrived at their destination. That, and Tim had his canteen, should they need it. Not that Tim had offered to share, but with the man’s generosity, Rhys wasn’t too concerned about asking.

They passed outcroppings and towering rock formations, radio towers and satellite dishes that were veined with cancerous rust. Rhys was able tell they were still functional, though, when he switched focus to his ECHO eye. He could understand the why, but _how_ anyone could use such outdated and shoddy equipment was beyond his mental grasp. 

Scattered debris was strewn about the sands in strangely organic piles, torn tires and abandoned, blown-up or broken vehicles that resembled ominous sculptures just some of the items in the vast array. There were even houses, few and far between. They looked abandoned as well. Tim didn’t supply any commentary about their surroundings, not even on the lack of hostile parties. His steps were quick and nimble, Rhys’ long legs supplying the means of keeping up. The desert seemed to stretch for miles, the silence even longer. But when Rhys checked the time on his palm, only less than an hour had passed. He resisted the urge to ask how much further they had to go, finding he didn’t have to when a sign appeared in the distance, rising from the sand like one of the Handsome Jack billboards that littered the planet. Rhys turned on his ECHO eye to read it, making out the words _Hellion’s Gulch, pop 232, Psychos fuck off._ The gates were next, towering high above land that had become rocky. Spires lined them to each side, sharpened poles meant for the place to look like a fortress. They appeared made up of recycled scrap, but were nonetheless ominous and formidable.

“Shit, what is this?”

“A town,” Tim replied, voice flat. “A decent one.”

“Well, I knew that. Just...wow, this place is huge.”

“Yeah.” Slowing, Tim looked over. “You might want to ditch the vest announcing that you’re Hyperion to the whole damn planet. You can stick it in my pack.”

Rhys was ready to protest, but he saw the logic in the suggestion and shrugged out of the particular article of clothing, stuffing it in a pocket of Tim’s backpack. He still looked like a businessman, something that was a rarity on Pandora, but at least not one from the planet’s most despised company. As they approached the gates of Hellion’s Gulch, he was happy he’d listened. The suspicious glares of two guards dressed in dusters fell upon him, seeming to bore into his soul. They looked like they could’ve been related, but out here, in the middle of nowhere, that _also_ could’ve meant they were inbred. He’d heard plenty of rumors about Pandora’s backwater towns run by whole packs of sister-wives and other such horrific human atrocities. 

“Look, we got ourselves a fancypants here,” one of the guards said, spitting into the dirt.

“What you bring in this time, Timothy?” the other cackled. “Besides that skag, I mean. You always getting strays. Just never seen you with one of them corporates tagging along.”

“Ex-corporate, Major,” Tim said with an air of defense, shifting the creature on his shoulders. “Ain’t that right, Rhys?”

“Oh, uhm, yeah. Right.”

“Where you from, boy?” Major asked. “Maliwan? Tediore? Can’t be Hyperion. Those cocksuckers have it too good to deflect. Plus, I heard they explode your innards if you try.”

“What’s it matter where he’s from?” Tim snapped, making Rhys raise an eyebrow. “Just let us in, dipshits.”

“Calm your tits, Timothy,” the first one who had spoken replied. “We’re just fucking with you. You can go in. Just make sure your puppy behaves.”

“Oh, shut your freakin’ piehole already,” Tim growled as Major banged on the gate and shouted something.

“One of these days, I’m gonna punch you in your’s. Fuck knows that despicable mug you got deserves it.”

Rhys’ brow arched higher. So, Tim wasn’t always incognito when he was in town. That was a point of interest he was going to store in the back of his mind. He didn’t have time to dwell on it, though, as the doors cracked open and the main plaza sprawled before them. Tim didn’t hesitate to enter, so he didn’t, either. 

As they left Major and his partner behind, he heard one of them call out, “Nice tie!”

“Don’t listen to those pair of dicks,” Tim told him, returning to a softer tone.

“Really wasn’t, anyway.”

He couldn’t tell for certain, but Rhys got the feeling Tim was grinning behind his mask. 

**XXXX**

“So, that was something,” Rhys said as they strode through the winding roads of Hellion’s Gulch.

“What was?” Tim asked.

“Everything leading up to this point. I mean, this is where you’re going to leave, right?”

“Leave?”

“Yeah, you know. I do my thing and you do your’s.”

“I don’t follow you.”

“You never asked me why I was out in the middle of the desert by myself or where I was heading.”

“You never told me.”

The logic halted Rhys in his tracks. Tim walked a few paces before he noticed the other man was no longer at his side. He turned on his heel, cocking his head, stirring a strange feeling in Rhys once more. It wasn’t the same as when he was watching him heft the skag up, picturing what his musculature might look like in action. This was the cold bite of familiarity, of something that had bothered him before. He shook the feeling off, getting back to the situation at hand. He couldn’t believe Tim’s reasoning, incredulous that someone who seemed to have a few good ounces of intelligence could’ve said something so ridiculous. The absurdity almost angered him, but the emotion died as quick as it had been threatening to roil up. It was his own fault for letting Tim lead him into town instead of where he had to go.

“You’re right,” he said, rubbing the side of his neck where his tattoo was. “I just followed you, didn’t I? Stupid.”

There was no reply from Tim, who ran a gloved hand through his messy hair before returning his grip back to the dead skag.

“I was supposed to meet my friends. Friend. And acquaintances. Whatever those two are.”

“So, where?”

“Hollow Point.”

“Hate to tell you, but you’re pretty far out of the way.” Tim paused, a slight sound emitting from his headgear. “There are means of getting you from here to there, though.”

“Ok, I can work with that.”

Tim began walking again, leading them deeper into town. The streets that were neat and cared for with spruced up shop fronts began to fade to ones cluttered by dumpsters and garbage, litter strewn about on every visible corner, posters and graffiti pasted on and adorning walls in abundance. The shops here sported grimey windows and faded, withering signs, showcasing more unusual things. In some cases, those things were even adult in nature. The homes were tighter together, the people milling about shadier and suspicious, riddled with scars and tattoos and everything in-between. The further they ventured, the more uneasy Rhys became. He’d gotten some harsh or glaring looks already, and Tim even turned his head towards him a few times.

“We’ve got to get you a new outfit if you’re going to survive Pandora.”

They came to a large tavernesque establishment with a hanging neon sign that read ‘Hell’s Ditch.’ There were strands of more lights strewn about the outside, around the double doors of the entryway and the encrusted windows. They were turned off in the daylight, but Rhys imagined how colorful the place would look in darkness, lit up like a tree on Mercenary’s Day. He figured it was the place to _be_ on this side of town, where the drinks flowed in an endless stream and the food was questionable but edible, if it didn’t end up killing you. There was probably as much gossip that went around here as the rounds of beer washed down unsightly gullets. Every gathering from corporate soirees to skid row get-togethers loved gossip.

Rhys thought they might enter the place, but Tim continued past the building, rounding the corner into an alleyway. Piles of trash lined the walls and the lampost at the end of it was broken and bent in two, but there were no other inhabitants. The other man stopped when he came to a plain metal door, rapping on it in quick succession. There was a muffled curse from the other side, the door swinging open shortly after.

The woman holding it was petite, her gray hair tied up in a bun, cheeks rosy and pulled taught against her bones, eyes like chips of coal. She was dressed in an apron, splatters of blood adorning it, which troubled Rhys. Shed blood on Pandora was never a good sign, but the woman’s eyes softened when they settled on Tim and a wide smile appeared when she saw what was around his neck.

“Oi, Timothy! Didn’t expect you at this hour.”

“Yeah, I’m just a little late,” he replied, drawing out the word ‘little’.

“Don’t matter. There’s a lot of time before the dinner rush. Bring in the bugger.” She paused, eyes falling on Rhys. “You doing business negotiations?”

“I’m just helping him out.”

“You and your hero complex. It’ll get you killed one day, it will.”

“I don’t have- nevermind.”

Tim stepped over the threshold, Rhys in tow. The room could only be a kitchen, sharp knives and butcher’s blades and even a machete strung up around the place, massive stove and grill taking up almost the entirety of the largest wall. There was also an island work station centered on the floor, and a table with dark stains bleeding into the wood it was constructed of, the unnerving blotches spreading out in all directions. They looked as if they had been there awhile, and when Tim let the dead skag slam down against the surface, Rhys knew why.

“Bit small,” the woman observed. “But it’ll do.”

“I took down two, but I couldn’t find anything bigger today, Polly. Sorry.”

“You’ll get your pay still. So, what’ll it be? Supplies? Credits?”

Tim didn’t hesitate. “Gimme room and board. I need a freakin’ shower. And I bet Rhys is dying for one, too.”

Rhys felt a cringe working its way up his spine, suppressing it as best as he could. He didn’t want to shower on Pandora. He didn’t even want to know what a shower looked like here. All he could picture was scum and rust and slimy water. But he didn’t have a choice in the matter, and so he nodded.

“Yeah, cool. A shower.”

Polly’s eyes darted between him and Tim, her fists going to her hips. One corner of her mouth quirked.

“It’s only the one room, Tim. With one bed.”

“Well….”

“Hey, I already slept,” Rhys piped up. “So I don’t need the bed. Besides, weren’t you going to get me to Hollow Point somehow? I probably won’t even be here.”

Languid in movement, Tim’s head turned to Rhys. The younger man was met with that lensed stare he was getting so tired of. It was frustrating, not being able to see the expression beneath the other man’s gear, like trying to fathom a complex math equation.

“Can you just…take those goggles off?” Rhys’ voice was whiny even to his own ears.

“You don’t want that, love,” Polly said, dragging the machete he’d seen earlier against a pointed metal rod. He hadn’t noticed when she’d picked up the instrument. “What’s under there will make you reel.”

“I doubt it.”

“No.” Tim’s voice was as sharp as the blade Polly wielded.

“Why not?”

“It’s. Personal.”

“Leave him alone about it.” There was a tone to Polly’s voice that Rhys didn’t like. He had a feeling that she might’ve used those sharp knives for more than cutting up the evening’s dinner a few times.

Ah, well. At least if Tim took a shower and had to sleep, _maybe_ there’d be the possibility of seeing what he was hiding.

“For the record,” came Tim’s obscured voice, “I wasn’t going to let you go off on your own. I’m going with you.”

“You are?”

Polly gave Tim a slap on the arm, which didn’t even make him flinch.

“Are you touched in the head, Timothy? You’re going to take a stranger all the way to Hollow Point and probably not even get a bloody thing out of it?”

“How do you know I won’t get anything? I think Rhys here has a long story to tell me.”

“Er, you know.” Rhys gave a nervous chuckle. “About that.” He winced, wishing he had kept his mouth shut. But it was too late now.

“See? Confirmed.”

Giving Rhys a final look that made him scowl back, Polly rolled her eyes and turned away.

“Right. Do what you like. When things go wonky and you come back here to lick your wounds,  
you better not bring your baggage to my doorstep.”

“When have I ever done such a thing?”

“Just go on up to the room already.”

With that, Polly slid the machete into the dead skag’s flesh, beginning to cut away at it.


	3. An Inevitable Force

It was nicer than Rhys had imagined, the room, furnished with a fluffy, full-sized bed that was done up neat like a fancy hotel. There was a wingback chair made of fabric that looked comfortable, and a writing desk with another chair, this one made of wood. When Rhys peeked into the bathroom, he was surprised to see it was just like any other plain bathroom, porcelain sink and toilet, all scrubbed down to not-quite-sparkling but decent. The shower was a single stall with a frosted glass door. It reminded him of the one he had back on Helios, before all this nonsense had befallen him and Vaughn.

Now that he had a chance to relax, his thoughts turned to his friend. He wondered if he was alright, what he was doing now, if Fiona and Sasha had abandoned him. Worry churned in his gut, as did guilt. It seemed like ages had passed since he’d thought about Vaughn’s wellbeing. He’d been too focused on his own survival, and he hadn’t even thought about what he was going to do about Jack, either. Should he even tell the others about the AI if he ever caught up with them again? He might find himself riddled with bullet holes if he confessed what Nakayama’s drive had held within its circuits.

And then there was the dilemma with Timothy, who he wasn’t even well acquainted with yet. Nonetheless, that didn’t stop a sense of camaraderie from forming in Rhys’ mind. It could’ve just been that he’d had his ass saved by the other man, though he was opposed to believing that was the _only_ reason. There was an air about the quiet non-native who could become volatile in the right person’s presence that drew him in. It felt like when he’d been younger, that feeling of being swept up by charm and lured into the vice of a crush. Except he wouldn’t call Tim charming. Not exactly. More like rugged and standoffish. But maybe those were alluring traits on their own.

Frowning, Rhys didn’t like where his thoughts were heading. He didn’t need to start harboring feelings for someone who was probably going to take advantage of his situation later. 

From where he was sitting back on his haunches near his pack, which he’d put on the carpeted floor, Tim noticed his expression and cantered his head.

“What, did you just find a baby spiderant crawling up your back?”

Rhys did his best to mask his expression. It wasn’t like a frown was telling of what he was thinking, but he didn’t want Tim to start asking him questions. His mouth might run off faster than his head, letting out stray thoughts.

“I’m just thinking about, er, things.”

“Oh yeah?”

Tim was removing a new set of clothes from his pack and setting them down. Rhys was surprised to see they were folded in neat squares and smelled of fresh laundry even from a distance. The man was becoming more intriguing by the moment. The wooden chair was grabbed by Rhys and dragged over, and he slumped in it, shrugging. Where could he begin, and was it even the right time to tell Tim his story thus far? He rubbed his face with his flesh hand as the decision lingered over his head like a mental guillotine. Tim wasn’t a vault hunter (at least Rhys didn’t think he was), but most anybody’s appetite for riches and glory could be whet by mention of finding a vault. Not that he wouldn’t figure out what Rhys was up to in the future, if he was planning on accompanying him for the long haul. He might even be more adamant about protecting Rhys if he knew the truth. But at what cost would that be? Tim might see Rhys’ companions as disposable, then. As little as he knew about Fiona and Sasha, they were quickly becoming a team, and he didn’t want them involved in the fallout. Vaughn was more important, though. If anything happened to his friend because of his indiscretion…. He tried to put the thought out of his head, focusing instead on the business of Jack. _That_ he wasn’t mentioning.

“I guess you don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to,” Tim said, intercepting Rhys’ thoughts.

There was a nod from Rhys. “You haven’t exactly opened up to me yourself.”

“Fair enough.”

Gathering the clothes, Tim rose and turned toward the bathroom. Rhys hadn’t realized how tall he was before. They were almost the same height. The other man didn’t say anything as the bathroom door clicked shut behind him. Soon the muffled sound of running water could be heard from the other side. Rhys sat wondering what kind of face lay hidden behind Tim’s goggles and mask, if he looked decent under there. He’d seen the scar that couldn’t be entirely covered by the other man’s gear, and though a mark like that could mar fine features, something told Rhys it would be interesting rather than appalling. There was the possibility he was wrong, of course. It _did_ seem to have come from a severe wound.

All of a sudden, a rich sound echoed through the walls of the bathroom, forming words, drawing them out. They swayed to a tune, and Rhys realized that Tim was singing. It made him give a curt chuckle, and, recognizing the song, he hummed along. It wasn’t until Tim hit a certain note that Rhys went quiet, listening to hear the particular note again. It never came, and Rhys was left with a sense that what he’d heard had been contorted by his imagination.

Because, for a fraction of an instant, he’d thought he knew that voice.

Not lingering on it too long, Rhys switched to frivolous things to occupy his attention, like beating the latest high score in his favorite game. He almost didn’t notice when the bathroom door creaked open, heavy footsteps eventually drawing his gaze. He hoped that Tim wasn’t wearing his gear, but was disappointed when he saw that the man had his mask and goggles on, albeit the latter was now cleaned and gleaming. His expectations, of course, had been unrealistic, and so instead he stood, kicking off his boots, revealing his favorite blue and yellow striped socks.

“Those are great,” Tim said, making a sweeping gesture. “Wish they sold stuff like that on Pandora. I’d have a whole bunch, though they’d probably be ruined in a few days. Guess that’s why I never bothered asking someone to make any for me instead.”

It was with a furrowed brow that Rhys looked Tim over. From his limp, dripping hair to his calloused, tanned feet, Tim did _not_ seem like a person who wore novelty socks. He was rough around the edges, a man of strength and occasional grit. And, by the way his form-fitting tank top and long-shorts clung to him, one that had the body of a sculpture.

“Are you checking me out?” Tim’s words were as slow as molasses dripping off a spoon.

“N-no!” Rhys was quick to defend. Was he looking at Tim in such a way? He didn’t think so. It was simply admiration, like the way the skills with which a piece of artwork had been constructed could be admired. “I don’t think my socks have ever been complimented,” he added to clear the air.

There was a long bout of silence from Tim, his face never turning away from Rhys.

“Alright.” The sound that came from Tim’s mask was so soft that Rhys couldn’t tell if it was a laugh or a sigh. “I’m going to get some sleep. Won’t be that long. That fancy arm of yours can probably keep you busy, I’m sure.”

“Yeah. I’m going to grab a shower myself.”

“Mind the hot water.” Tim drew the bed down, flopping on to the mattress as if he were dead weight. It creaked but seemed a lot sturdier than Rhys would have suspected. “Not sure how much longer it’ll last.”

As it turned out, it lasted just long enough for Rhys to reach a satisfying level of cleanliness. He toweled off, wary of having to put on the same clothes he’d been wearing. They were marred with deep stains, wrinkled and worn. Tim had mentioned finding new clothes at some point, and he hoped he kept true to his word, because these would start smelling rank sometime soon. That, and Rhys always felt off if his appearance was less than impeccable. In normal circumstances he would’ve just gulped down his pride and dealt with it, but Pandora was already chipping away at his sanity. Anything to keep him feeling balanced and in control was met with enthusiasm and longing. 

He left his tie off and his shirt un-tucked, exiting the bathroom to find Tim contorted into a strange position. The other man lay half on his back and half on his side, his pillow turned sideways, hugged close to his head as if he were clinging to it in desperation. Though Rhys couldn’t be sure, he appeared to already be in the throes of deep slumber behind his facial gear. When Rhys walked across the floor and Tim didn’t stir, he was confident that was the case, guessing that the man had to have been as exhausted as he’d claimed, if not more. One had to be if they could manage to sleep so deeply in such uncomfortable circumstances, twisted up like discarded scrap metal and with most of their head still bound in a strange apparatus. Unless Tim was used to it, of course. Rhys could only speculate that this wasn’t the first time his newfangled companion had sacrificed comfort for secrecy. It just made the mystery all the more interesting. 

Lowering himself into the wingback chair, Rhys tried not to make too much noise as he settled in. It was as comfortable as it looked, and he attempted to relax, ready to return to his gaming. Halfway through a level, though, Jack decided to appear beside him, startling him enough that he was struck by an enemy and lost his final life. Glowering at the AI as the game over notification appeared, Rhys shut down the projection from his palm and waited for the inevitable commentary that would follow.

When none came, he asked in a hushed tone, “Aren’t you going to say something about my lack of gaming skills?”

“I think you were doing pretty well there. If you think you suck, that’s on your head.”

“Somehow I don’t believe you.”

“Hey, come on now, cupcake. I call things like I see them.” 

Jack walked across the room, making his way around the bed. He peered down at the sleeping body there, his mouth becoming a thin line before he muttered something under his breath. Rhys didn’t catch it, and he had a moment where he thought he didn’t want to. But then all the memories of how the AI had been acting around Tim bombarded him, and the need to know became stronger.

“You’ve been weird around Tim since we met him. Are you going to tell me what you just said?”

“Nope.” Jack’s gaze traveled to Tim’s rucksack, then to his rifle, before he took a seat on the bed, or at least appeared to. “I’m surprised you’re not skag chow yet.”

“You’re changing the subject.”

“Oh, am I? Hey, you wondering how he sleeps with that tech on? Because that looks freakin’ uncomfy.”

Frustration surged through Rhys and he fought not to let his temper get the better of him. It wouldn’t do to raise his voice right now, and he knew making him angry was Jack’s intention. The man lived for strife, reveling in getting a rise out of people. Rhys had only dealt with the AI a short time, but he wasn’t going to fall into the trap Jack was snaring.

“You know,” Rhys said, still keeping his voice quiet, “I could just tell Tim about you. Maybe he’d know something you’re not telling me.”

“If he don’t kill you for having me in your head, you mean. Are you forgetting what planet you’re on? And that’s if he even believes you.” Jack’s words didn’t waver, revealing nothing.

Rhys spooled his thoughts as he glared at the AI. There was something about Tim that made him believe that the man would take his word seriously and not outright murder him. He might be angry with or just cautious around Rhys after the revelation, but that would probably be all. Of course, that could also be Rhys’ internal optimism rearing. There were no clear indications that Timothy was a benign force when it came to anything, except maybe his invitation to assist Rhys without asking for much in return (so far). That wasn’t exactly a whole lot to make such a confident assumption on.

“Tim told me he’s not from Pandora, remember?” Rhys piped up again. “He might not hate your guts so much.”

Jack’s expression made him look like he wanted to say something and was scant inches away from doing so. Whatever it was, he managed to hold back, keeping quiet. Rhys knew that wasn’t in his character, and he wondered if he’d struck a vulnerable spot in the AI. But then Jack gave a grin that was wide and gleeful enough to be unnerving, the words that came pouring from his mouth not what Rhys was expecting at all.

“Alright, if it means I don’t have to hear shit like that again, I’ll let you in on something.” Jack crossed one ankle over the opposite knee. “This guy might have something real valuable to me, and I need you to get your hands on it.”

“Wait, you knew him all this time?” Fixing on Jack, Rhys’ eyes narrowed, his gaze becoming scrutinous as if he were trying to read the very coding making up the AI’s form. “Is that how you knew his name?”

“What are you talking about? He told you who he was.”

“Yeah, he told _me_. You’d already left. Kind of funny how you somehow knew it later.”

The AI rolled his eyes and made a dismissive gesture. “Come on, Rhysie. Stop making this into a bigger deal than it is.”

“Am I actually doing that, Jack, or is there something else you’re not telling me? Because I’m really not in the mood for any surprises down the line.” 

“Eh, well….” 

Leaving the sentence unfinished, Jack looked everywhere around the room but at his human host. Eventually he settled on staring out the window, the warped reflection of himself there peering back with what could be considered a hangdog expression.

“I guess I can always ask Tim about _you_ after he wakes up,” Rhys threatened again, this time with conviction.

That one sentence seemed to spark something deep within Jack. Like a snarling, snapping beast, he rose to his feet, stomping over to Rhys until he was looming over him. Chest puffed out, there was a look in his eyes that spoke of a fury as intense as a maelstrom, his jaw clenched, upper lip curled slightly back to reveal perfectly straight teeth. If the former CEO had been human, Rhys might’ve been terrified by the feral display, so primal was it at its core. However, his incorporeal body deducted much from the overall intimidation factor, and the human man only settled himself further back against the chair so the AI wouldn’t clip through him.

“Don’t even _think_ of trying it, pumpkin.” Voice full of grit, Jack reached to grab Rhys by the collar, growling when his hand phased through it.

Though he didn’t laugh, the expression on Rhys’ face spoke for itself. 

“I don’t think you could actually stop me if I wanted to go through with it,” he said, tone wry.

“I’ll fry your goddam subsystems, you little _shit_!” 

“You’d kill yourself. I mean it, Jack. I’d be braindead and you’d either be trapped or erased. But, hey, it’s your call.”

“Fine!” Fury reaching a crescendo, the former CEO took an unnecessary breath, nostrils flaring. Smoothing his hair as if the strands had become unruly, he retreated, turning his back to Rhys. “Fine. You wanna know so badly about Timothy, then I’ll tell you.” 

Hands coming to grip the armrests of the chair, Rhys felt his muscles go slack as he waited, a quiet, “Thanks,” slipping from his lips. 

“What-freakin’-ever. Tim and I go back. I mean way back, before the whole becoming the Hyperion CEO thing happened. We were partners. Business partners, I mean. Don’t get any weird ideas in your head.” 

“So if this is the same guy, then why’d you tell me to get away from him?”

“Did I say i was finished?”

“Well, no.”

“Then shut up and stop asking questions.” Jack had taken to pacing the floor, hands clasped behind his back. He seemed distant, lost in thought and not focusing on any one thing in the room. “So, yeah, we didn’t always see eye to eye, but we managed, and he ended up sticking by me when I took Tassiter’s place. I always thought he was loyal to a fault, that’d he’d follow me to the ends of the freakin’ universe. I put my faith in him.” The AI’s voice seemed to drop a few octaves, becoming somber, the words rolling off his tongue slower. “You know, Rhysie, faith’s a funny thing. Put enough of it in something, _someone_ , and it’ll backfire on you. Betrayal is an inevitable force, driven by the dredges of humanity. You want to go far in life, rise to god tier levels like me? Never rely on anyone else. You’re stronger when you fight your battles alone.

Shaking his head, Rhys pinched the bridge of his nose. “That’s great, but it doesn’t tell me anything.” 

“Oh, no? Alright. Tim turned his back on me in my prime. After all we had worked for, all we had accomplished, he showed his true fuckin’ colors, lemme tell ya. He left me and my...me to _die_ like some backwater asshole while he went off to gallivant across the galaxy. In the end, nothing mattered to him but himself.” With a harsh cluck of his tongue, Jack’s gaze drifted over to the sleeping form, mouth a thin, tight line. “Last I heard, he was kicking around the planets incognito, doing dirty bandit work.” 

As if sensing the disquiet emanating from Jack’s words, Tim stirred on the bed, turning over onto his stomach. The soft sound of snoring came from his mask, akin to a purring cat through the distortion. It made Rhys smile despite his stressed state, Jack raising his eyebrows at the other man.

“Am I amusing to you or something?” he snapped, still on edge.

“No, it’s just— he sounds so funny sleeping in that thing.”

“Oh, yeah. Hilarious.” When Rhys’ smile didn’t waver and his gaze remained trained on the sleeping figure, Jack’s eyes lidded and he inclined his head, looking like a god surveying his flock of worshipers. His voice switched gears entirely, shedding seriousness to take on a playful lilt. “Does somebody like someone else?”

The question lingered in the air between them like a frothing wave, ready to crash against the shoreline with abandon. Rhys went rigid before it as thoughts from earlier came rushing back, his tongue sticking to the bottom of his mouth.

“I’m going to take that as a big freakin’ ‘yeah’.” Jack let out a raucous laugh. “You should see your face right now, kiddo.”

That snapped Rhys out of his temporary paralysis. “Can you not call me that?”

“Sure thing, meat buddy. Maybe shouldn’t call you that either, though, since you seem to have a _thing_ for someone here’s meat.”

“I…I do not.”

“Hey, you do you. Just leave me out of it. Wouldn’t go after this one, anyway. They say dirty bandit bastards are best at breaking hearts.”

“Nobody says that.”

The AI shrugged. “According to you, who's basically a nobody.” The expression on Rhys’ face was all pursed lips and glaring looks. “Whatever you do, don’t go dangling the Gortys business in front of him. He’ll manipulate the situation somehow, I can guarantee it. Or freakin’ end up just plain torturing you for information.”

Once more, Jack’s words struck too close to Rhys’ own thoughts. He was more than sure that, despite living in his subsystems, Jack couldn’t read his mind. That meant that their opinions were unanimous, and he was disturbed by that idea; not because he shared thought patterns aligned with Jack’s. If anything, that made him feel more grounded in his ability to lead. It was the fact that, now that he had mutual agreement to bank on, not being able to trust Tim as much as he wanted to was more of a reality, and that bothered him.

Rhys let himself fall into a cradle of thought, his head turned away from Jack, his brow furrowed. The AI took notice, sauntering back across the room, standing with his hands on his hips like a proud conqueror until Rhys had no choice but to let his gaze roam back to him.

“Don’t think about it too much,” came Jack’s voice. “I wanna get back to business, anyway.”

The breath that Rhys let out from his puffed cheeks was audible. “Sure, fine.”

“Are you going to sulk on me?”

“No, I just— just tell me what it is you want from Tim already.”

“Alright, so here’s the deal.” Jack came around the side of the chair, appearing to lean his elbow on the headrest. “He should have this thing of mine. Let’s just say I built and programmed it and that it’s super powerful, ‘kay? I don’t see it on him, but he used to wear it all the time.”

“Ok, I’m still listening.”

“Of course I want it back, or we wouldn’t be having this conversation. Now, ask yourself this: how we gonna get it if it’s in, like, his backpack or something?”

“Whoa, no, wait. I told you I’m not robbing him.”

“It’s not robbing if you’re taking back something that’s yours, pumpkin.” Moving to the window, Jack attempted to pull down the shade and block out the glaring sun. He couldn’t grasp the cord, though, and he looked at it with momentary frustration. “And I need it more than he does.”

“Uhm, you’re just a hologram, Jack. It’s not like you could use whatever it is.”

“Course I can’t. And don’t remind me.”

It was like the mental cogs in Rhys’ head began to churn all at once. “So that’s where I come in,” he said, tone dry.

“Yup. You’re the one with the skin and bones.”

“Why do you need this thing again?”

“Because.” Jack’s gaze leveled on Rhys, intense enough that he felt it could stab as deep into his flesh as the machete he’d seen Polly use on the dead skag. He couldn’t help but feel a roil of dread coil up his spine, making him tense. “It could be my ticket to joining all you people in the realm of the three-dimensional.”


	4. The Man and the Myth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy new year! Updates to this will be a bit slower from here on in, as 2019 is already managing to kick my bum, and I'll be focusing on multiple projects at once. Enjoy!

At first, it was as if a fog had rolled in, shrouding Rhys’ brain, making his thoughts muddled and hard to grasp. He didn’t know how long he sat there unspeaking, trying and failing to fathom Jack’s words. It couldn’t have been too long, as the AI didn’t appear to become impatient. He would get there, though, and Rhys shut his eyes and shook his head to clear it. Thoughts trickling back as if put through a sieve, he felt them trigger a whole slew of feelings and opinions, eventually spurring a reply.

“That doesn’t seem possible.”

It wasn’t a good response. He knew next to nothing about whatever device Jack was after, and disagreeing with the AI tended to make it ornery.

“Really?” Jack said, expression pinched. “Because you’re _such_ an expert on these things.”

“I didn’t say-”

The AI tutted at him. He promptly shot it a glare, not liking having to keep his mouth shut, but knowing when it was futile to try and defend his position. Rhys understood when it was wise to choose to fight a battle, and this definitely wasn’t one of those times. Besides, he could wake Tim in the process. The younger man didn’t care what Jack had revealed about him. Tim had still extended an invitation to help, and whether his motives be selfish or not, he’d done quite a bit for Rhys that he simply hadn’t been obligated to do.

“So, Rhysie, are you gonna help me out with this or not?”  


Stepping away from where he’d been standing by the window, Jack crossed the room once more, looking like a caged animal. Rhys wasn’t sure how far of a range the AI had to roam, but it seemed he couldn’t stray far from the Company Man’s proximity, or else he probably would’ve gone exploring on his own by now. Or maybe not, since they _were_ on Pandora. Being so tethered to Rhys certainly seemed to be getting on his nerves, though.

“I don’t know yet,” Rhys said, the weight of the moral dilemma weighing down on him. He sighed, losing himself to serious contemplation. If he found the device and stole it for Jack, he would be betraying Timothy’s trust, and would feel like shit for doing so. Sure, maybe when he’d been a middle manager trying to make his grand ascent he would’ve perpetrated something like that with far less guilt. Given that it had been Hyperion, though, most of his co-workers had deserved such a fate. Stealing from Tim felt far more scummier, a proverbial biting of the hand that had fed him.

That, and Rhys wasn’t sure how he felt having a Jack around that could physically interact with the world yet. Sure, he looked up to the man as his hero. And the AI had been helpful at times, but how much of that had been self-motivated? Also, the former CEO was dangerous, deadly even. Rhys hadn’t forgotten the man’s violent and bloody past, nor that he’d initially wanted to strangle Rhys the first time they’d interacted. It was hard to just set those circumstances aside and hope ushering Jack back to the physical realm didn’t backfire. 

Jack had also hidden the fact he’d known who Tim was all this time. Though Rhys could understand his motives for doing so, if he were to be believed, that still didn’t negate the fact that Jack had withheld information from him. Important information. If he were capable of that, what else we he capable of hiding from Rhys? 

“You’re taking a long time figuring out how to agree to be my right hand man,” Jack commented. He would've sounded bored if not for the slight edge to his voice hinting at the first stirrings of agitation. 

Rhys blinked at the AI, feeling as if he’d just woken from a dream. 

“You haven’t really given me a good reason to trust you,” he answered honestly.

“So you think I’m not trustworthy alla sudden, is that it?” 

It was as if Jack’s voice had been dragged against a whetstone, the edge to it getting sharper. He came back around the front of the chair, his hands psuedo-gripping the armrests, his form leaning in, giving the illusion that Rhys’ personal space was shrinking. It would have been intimidating, if not for the fact that the younger man could see right through his body, reminding him Jack was nothing more than a hologram. 

“Honestly, Rhys, this is exactly why I didn’t want you hanging around Tim in the first place.”

“Like he has anything to do with it.” 

Rolling his eyes, Rhys stood up in a sudden rush, hair standing on end as he passed through the AI’s body without effort. Invisible force dancing up his skin like crawling insects, it was not unlike walking through an electrical field, albeit a low-energy one. 

“He had everything to do with it, trust me.”

Rhys looked down to realize he’d stopped in front of where Tim had laid his pack. There were no locks on it, and it was ordinary enough to look like it didn’t boast any kind of security. Then again, looks could be deceiving. Tim obviously had access to the right technologies, considering what he’d been carrying, and he didn’t seem idiotic enough to leave his valuables where they were ripe for the taking. Even if Rhys had decided that digging around in the rucksack solely because Jack wanted to was a decent idea, he doubted he’d get very far without being detected. There was always the possibility of scanning it with his ECHO eye, but he didn’t want to give Jack the satisfaction that going with his plan was even a consideration. If there was anything he had in common with the former CEO, it was obstinance. 

“I think I need some air.” Rhys turned to the bed as if taking note that Tim was still there. He was still snoring away despite the Company Man having been talking aloud for awhile. “I’m going to go out.”

“You can’t, Rhysie,” Jack protested, walking up behind him, sounding smug. “You don’t know your way around this place, it's probably full of bandits, and they’ll eat you alive. Trust me, ain’t nothing pretty about that.” 

“I’ll take my chances. I’ve come this far, haven’t I?” 

“Yeah, with help.”

Rummaging around, Rhys found a book in the room’s sole dresser. It looked like a holy tome of some sort, and he briefly wondered what kind of religions Pandorans might subscribe to as he tore out a page with a scant amount of words on it. Hopefully the theologies were forgiving of desecrating holy works. A pencil was lying on the top of said dresser, and he used it to jot down a quick note to Tim before folding it over and writing the man’s name on it. After all, he didn’t want Tim thinking he’d skipped out on him without even a word of thanks. Rhys was better than that. 

Boots shoved on, hair worked into whatever decent style he could wrangle out of just the use of his fingers, Rhys checked that Tim was sound asleep for the umpteenth time. There was some guilt to just running off alone without consulting the other man first, letter or no, but he’d go stir crazy if he had to spend anymore time in the room with just Jack to talk to. Not that Jack was entirely awful, or that he could escape him. Just that the combination of his own restlessness and the former CEO needling him was detrimental to his nerves.

“Are you coming or disappearing?” he asked the AI, who was dusting imaginary lint off his overcoat.

A grin split Jack’s face wide. “I’d like to be coming, but since I can’t _do_ that in this form, at least not that I know of, I think I’ll hit the meat sack. Rather not deal with a town full of bandits that I can’t outright kill.”

“O-kay. I’ll take that as a goodbye.”

“Yeah. See you, Rhysie.”

As Rhys was careful not to make any noise opening the door, Jack flickered out of existence. Realizing he had no way to lock said door behind him, Rhys could only hope that nobody would try to rob the room. It didn’t seem very busy for a place that rented beds, so hopefully luck would favor him. He located the main staircase, took a cleansing breath, and made his way down.

_XXX_

It had been too easy. Someone as adamant about his opinions as Jack shouldn’t have backed down without even so much a display of temper. To even retreat back into Rhys’ head without a fight was uncharacteristic. 

This was what was on Rhys’ mind as he wandered the streets of Helion’s Gulch, eyes seeing but not entirely processing. The streets were in an inbetween state, not empty enough to lose himself entirely in, not busy enough to keep him alert. More than once he mistepped and was almost run down by someone on a motorbike. No doubt he would’ve been laughed at by Jack had the AI been around.

Trying to fathom Jack’s angle wasn’t bringing much to light. Rhys wasn’t exactly a mastermind when it came to understanding people and their motives (if the AI could even be called a person). Technology and data was his forte, not emotions and the psyche. But he’d had enough experience in his short life to know it was of some concern when someone did something that didn’t align with their typical disposition. Even if the process was exhibited by something inorganic by its very nature, overlooking it would probably not be wise. Still, thinking too hard on the subject without anything coming to fruition was inducing a headache, and he could only keep the thought process up for so long before the frustration was bound to turn his mood dour. 

Abandoning his train of thought, he focused back on the world around him, realizing he’d wandered further than he’d thought. Surroundings unfamiliar (not that any of Helion’s Gulch was really familiar), he assessed his options. Though he couldn’t recall much, he didn’t think he had made any turns, so doing a three-sixty and walking in a straight line _should’ve_ brought him back to Hel’s Ditch. Only when he did so he found himself staring at the mouth of an alley instead of a road. It didn’t seem like a possible throughway, though the yawning path seemed to have _some_ pedestrian traffic. 

Left confused, Rhys frowned to himself, feeling utterly alone. Never so strongly before had he felt the urge to talk to a familiar voice; anyone he knew, even Vasquez. Well, maybe not him as a first choice, considering how slimey their last conversation had been. Bringing his palm up in a moment of impulsive need, he wondered if the man would answer if he _did_ decide to call. Probably. The asshole would likely gloat about how Rhys had finally cracked and taken up his offer. 

There was always Yvette. Technically, he hadn’t talked to her all that long ago, and he didn’t know how long of a call he could get away with. It was always smart to give updates, though, and he found himself accessing her line, waiting for her to answer. The call was definitely going through, but nobody seemed to be at the other end. That, and he could sense eyes on him. Looking around proved his suspicions accurate. Nobody was staring outright, but he was definitely getting a few furtive glances by those that passed close by. Growing uneasy, he shut down the call, made sure he wasn’t being targeted by anyone outright by scanning the perimeter with his ECHO eye, then made a hasty decision. He’d take his chances with the alley. 

From the state of things, this place looked even more run down than the section of town Hel’s Ditch was located in. Graffiti painted the walls of the buildings, trash and grime spread out like a paving of filth. Some people loitered around like ghosts, pale and dangerous-looking, while others walked briskly to wherever they were going. Rhys had never been in an inner-city setting before, but had seen plenty depictions of them. This all too perfectly mirrored those images burned in to his mind, so closely it was almost a parody. He had to remind himself this was very real and, dressed as he was, he definitely stood out. Being cautious would have to become instinct, especially after what had transpired between him, Vaughn and those bandits in Prosperity Junction. Granted, he’d instigated that. Or more like was the catalyst for the incident, despite his best efforts to quell it. Having something like that happen again wasn’t in his best interest.

In retrospect, maybe going out for a walk alone in an unfamiliar town hadn’t been the most brilliant idea he’d ever had. It did make him feel less claustrophobic, less put upon. At what cost, though? Quickening his pace, he consoled himself with thoughts that at least sundown wouldn’t come for a few more days. Not that it made a difference to those on Pandora with criminal intentions. 

“Hey, roboboy,” someone called at Rhys’ back.

They could’ve been talking to anybody, really, but something dark and ominous slithered into Rhys’ brain, nestling where suspicion and curiosity lay entangled. Turning around, he saw a man just shy of disheveled staring at him, his lean, muscled form propped against the side of a building. The expression on his face was one of contempt, as if he thought of Rhys as unsavory. 

“Come here.” 

The man crooked a tattooed finger, then brushed limp, red locks out his eyes. The shock of hair made him look younger than Rhys, but there was something about his stature that gave away the fact that he was older than his appearance. When Rhys made no indication to obey, the man let out a hacking noise, throat working. A wad of phlegm landed at the Company Man’s feet, barely missing his boots. 

“Was that necessary?” Rhys found himself saying.

“So he can speak.” The stranger flashed his teeth, which were crooked and tinged yellow but seemingly all there. “Whatcha doing, boy? You’re not from around here.”

“Yeah. I’m here with a friend.” Making sure his voice didn’t waver, Rhys stressed the last part, causing the other man to snicker.

“You don’t say. And who might that be?” 

“People don’t usually give away those kinds of personal details to total strangers, last time I checked.”

“Now, now. We’re all friendly here in Helion’s Gulch. Ain’t no such thing as a stranger.” When Rhys didn’t seem like he was going to budge on his stance, the man puffed out his cheeks and let the air out slowly. “Name’s Butch. There, now we’re not complete strangers anymore.”

“Right. Nice to meet you, Butch. I should be going now.”

Before Rhys could turn his back on the man, Butch broke away from the wall. He was lightning fast, much quicker than anticipated. Even before Rhys could process the other man had moved at all, he found his cybernetic wrist in a solid grip, his whole body yanked forward so hard he managed to stumble a step.

“Not so fast, Hyperion.” At Rhys’ slackened jaw, he shook his head. “What, you think we’re all fucking morons in this town? You’re not fooling me. I know Hyperion tech when I see it, and not just cos the damn signature colors, though that sets off all kinds of alarms as well. Also, you may as well have been prancing around with their logo emblazoned on that outfit of yours. All that’s missing is the monkeysuit and you’d look like the perfect corporate scumbag.”

Tugging his arm hard, Rhys managed to jerk the other man forward, but was unsuccessful in breaking his grip. 

Baring his teeth, Butch snarled at him.

“You don’t strike me as a fighter, so don’t even try.”

That only made Rhys struggle harder. People passed them, and where they had been interested in his odd appearance before, they seemed to be pointedly ignoring him now. Maybe street assaults were common here and denizens had learned not to interfere. Or maybe they were just glad it was someone from out of town and not them being targeted. 

The other possibility was that Butch was just someone you didn’t get involved with, no matter what he was doing. Strong and aggressive, he seemed competent, and people like that with less-than-good intentions were better off avoided.

Kicking out instinctively, Rhys realized the grip on him had slipped. He almost fell flat on his ass, catching himself at the last moment. Whatever he’d done hadn’t slowed Butch down much. The man was stalking towards him, not unlike a skag hunting its prey, each movement precise, wild eyes never leaving him. 

“You couldn’t have just made this easy,” the man said, voice getting high and thin. “You have to make me rough you up, huh? So be it. When I catch up with you, I’m gonna rip that goddam ECHO eye out of your head with my bare fingers.”

His heart thrumming in his throat, Rhys wasted no time in escaping. Boots pounding the dirt road, long, gangly legs carrying him with all the grace of a newborn animal, he zig-zagged along, wondering if he was even going in the right direction. He thought he’d come from down this way, but he couldn’t be sure, and he didn’t have the luxury of stopping and asking for directions.

Suddenly something slammed into him from behind, bowling him over. Dirt flooded his mouth as he went down, sharp pain reverberating through his nose. Coughing, he pushed himself up only to be weighted down again. There was a sharp cackle as the pressure increased, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling from the roots. Other fingers scrabbled at his face, nails digging into his flesh dangerously close to his ECHO eye. 

“You brought this on yourself,” Madness was laced in Butch’s voice, far more intimidating than it had sounded before. “If you hadn’t run like a pussy, maybe I wouldn’t have to take these shiny robotics while you’re still alive.”

Panic surged in Rhys. He was going to die in a ditch in some podunk town where the locals apparently were oblivious or just plain didn’t care. This was so much worse than almost dying in a desert from lack of resources, or the complete chaos that had been the Prosperity Junction incident. Come to think of it, he’d almost died a few times since he’d touched down on Pandora; a sobering thought, but at least the other handful of near-deaths hadn’t been as humiliating. 

Determination tore through him like a whirling dervish. Pushing with his cybernetic arm, he managed to lift himself enough to twist his body, squirming in Butch’s grip until he was able to get his footing and lift himself. It surprised the other man enough to make him lose his balance. He caught himself before he could teeter over, but it was enough time for Rhys to get away.

Whether it was some preternatural sense or basic instinct, Rhys knew Butch was already gaining on him without looking. It was as if the other man was breathing down his neck, breath hot and rank. Sure enough when he did steal a glance, the man wasn’t too far behind. Despite his long legs, Butch was just faster than he was, built for endurance and speed, if his musculature was anything to go by. Rhys’ chances of escape were looking grim, and he didn’t think Butch was going to be taken off guard this time.

“Come on and face me, you Hyperion Bastard,” he could hear the man yelling.

Something grabbed Rhys by the arms then, this time from in front of him. He yelped and struggled, incredulous that Butch had gotten ahead of him somehow. Where he expected a grizzled face and triumphant leer, though, a masked visage stared at him, eyes obscured by familiar lenses. 

“Tim?” he asked, blinking in confusion, his breaths coming in deep pants.

“You alright there, Rhys? You’re bleeding.” Though Tim’s voice was robotized, it was obviously laced with concern. Maybe a bit of annoyance too, if his next words were anything to go by. “You gave me a scare when I woke up and you were gone. What were you even thinking?”

Trembling, Rhys shook his head. But before he could speak he was interrupted.

“Get your fucking hands off what’s mine,” came Butch’s voice, sounding not unlike a raving lunatic. He’d slowed to a walk, shoulders heaving as struggled to catch his breath. “I got to him first. Go find your own corporate asshole to assault. Or better yet, just go on and blow your brains out already. It would be the same goddam thing.”

Though it was impossible to tell what expression Tim had on his face, his muscles had stiffened, his stance rigid. For what felt like an aeon, nobody said anything, Butch finally growing impatient and raising his voice even more.

“You hear me, you scarred-face cocksucker?”

“Guess you know who I am, then.”

“You’re goddam right I know who you are. People are scared of you like you’re some kind of vengeful apparition up from the depths of hell, but I know better. You ain’t nothing but some cheap knockoff version of one of the most supreme douchebag cunts that ever lived.”

“Well, I wouldn’t call me cheap. I got paid quite a hefty sum for going through with the, er, adjustments. Now the douchebag cunt part, yeah, I’d have to agree there.” Tim let go of Rhys, who seemed utterly baffled, ushering him aside. “Head back to the room. Just keep following the road ahead and you’ll find it. I’ll handle this guy.”

“Oh, I don’t think so. Neither of you are leaving here alive. And when I’m done with _him_ ,” Butch pointed at Rhys, “there’ll be hardly anything left for the rakks to pick clean.”

Before Rhys had time to do much more than step away, Butch rushed Tim. At some point he’d acquired a blade, the saw-edged, formidable weapon brandished in his hand, ready to pierce through Tim’s tender flesh. He held it aloft, aiming to bring it down. But Tim locked a hand around the wrist holding the knife, stopping him dead. With a push that looked smooth enough to be a dance move, Butch was thrown back, eyes gleaming with rage. He proved his efficiency as he struck out with his other hand, fist meeting Timothy’s jaw. Rhys heard the crunch of metal, saw Tim’s head snap backward. Otherwise he didn’t seem phased by the blow.

Butch, however, had definitely felt the impact.

“Fuck!” he shouted, glaring at his bloody knuckles. “Take that shit off and fight me fairly.”

Launching himself again, Butch appeared disinterested in using the knife this time, instead grasping at Tim’s face. He latched on like some parasitic worm, blade forgotten as he scrabbled to find whatever locking mechanism kept Tim’s mask in place. It must have been more complex than it appeared, because he didn’t manage to unlock it before he was being knocked back. Tim’s counter strike was not without consequence, though. Another fist slammed into his face, striking dead center, making him grunt in pain.

“Oh, man, I _warned_ you about something like this happening,” a giddy voice said close to Rhys’ ear. He was so on edge that he jumped back, breathing a sigh of relief when he saw Jack’s form standing there, watching the fight with a focused intensity. “But hey, finally some action. My bets on Timmy. He used to be pretty damn good at getting his hands bloody.”

Tim had jammed his knee into Butch’s crotch, setting the other man laughing as he pulled back with a noise of surprise.

“Think I don’t wear armor there, asshole?” Butch taunted before slashing at him.

Not fast enough to duck out of the way, the knife tore through Tim’s shirt with ease. Blood drooled from the shallow wound but it didn’t slow him down. If anything, it made him fiercer, more formidable. He moved to land a blow to Butch's gut, certain his aim would be true. The other man read his movements though and swept his legs right from under him. He somehow managed to stay upright despite the fact, only falling over when Butch decided to tackle him.

“Dammit, Timmy, you always were a sucker for moves below the belt. Get the hell up already!”

Even if Tim could’ve heard Jack’s words, they likely would’ve fallen on deaf ears. Rhys gritted his teeth as he watched the blade slowly edging towards Tim’s chest, Butch jamming it downwards with both hands, Timothy holding him at bay. They were locked like that, neither prevailing, Rhys wondering if he should intervene. Not that he could do much. He really missed his stun baton. Having that would’ve put an end to this problem as soon as it had begun.

Though maybe Rhys didn’t have to worry after all. Tim looked like he was finally gaining the upper hand, pushing back with all his might, his torso rising with his efforts.

“Atta boy,” Jack cheered him on. “Teach him not to screw with the best.”

Perhaps Jack’s words were premature. Blood spurted as Butch gave a cry and drove the knife forward with a heaving surge of strength. Thankfully it wavered off course and slipped into Tim’s shoulder instead of somewhere more vulnerable. Still, he cried out in agony, barely getting the time to register what was happening before he took another punch to the face. Lashing out probably more in frustration than any strategic maneuver, he managed to slam a fist dead in the center of Butch’s chest, knocking the wind out of him. His hands were around the other man’s throat before Butch could catch his breath, squeezing so tightly the leather of his gloves strained.

Jack looked positively ecstatic at the outcome, lips twisted into a manic grin, hands balled into fists with excitement. 

“This is the best part, the killing blow,” he told Rhys, who was paralyzed by the sight. “Man, this shit gets me so freakin’ hard.”

Tim wasn’t letting go. Not even when Butch croaked and gurgled, struggling to breathe, did he let his grip slacken. The seconds ticked by, Butch’s eyes wide, mouth agape as he fought against Tim’s grip to no avail. Rhys had no idea how long it took to strangle a man to death, but it seemed to unfurl in slow motion, unnerving to watch. He swallowed thickly, feeling uneasy, Jack’s encouragement of Tim only making him feel worse.

Finally, with his skin having turned a color far from the natural spectrum, Butch went limp as if he’d given up the fight. Tim’s hands remained around his throat for a moment or two after, probably making sure that he wasn’t faking, before releasing. Butch’s form sagged then flopped over, unmoving amongst the cloud of dust he kicked up. Unsure if he was still alive, Rhys looked for signs of life, forgetting all about his ECHO eye in his state of shock. Distantly he heard Jack burst into a fit of giggles. 

“Goddam, Tim’s gotten even better at this,” he said when he had sobered some. “He was never this efficient before. Took a lot of work to turn that boy into a one man army, lemme tell ya.” 

With a deep sigh, Tim slowly rose and dusted himself off, wincing when he accidentally brushed his wounds. The one on his chest probably wouldn’t need any medical attention, but the laceration on his shoulder went deep. It was likely going to require stitching up. 

“We should get out of here,” he said, voice sounding wary and in pain. “I gotta get an anshin in me. Who knows what kind of infections I could get from that blade.”

Hearing no reply, Tim turned, Rhys nowhere to be seen. At first he thought the Company Man had fled like he’d told him to. But then he saw him not far off, heading in the direction of the Ditch. A small crowd had managed to gather around after all, and they parted for Tim with suspicious looks, though none of them stepped in to help Butch’s prone figure.

“Rhys, wait up,” Tim called, jogging after him before falling into step beside him. The other man had his arms wrapped around his chest, practically hugging himself. His back was hunched, his steps brisk. When he wouldn’t answer, Tim added, “That sack of shit won’t be bothering you again, I swear.”

All of the things coursing through Rhys’ head at the moment- the newfangled fear, the haunting echo of Jack’s warning about Tim, the fact that Tim had killed Butch as if it were a part of his very nature -came to a grinding halt. His breath stilled in his chest, eyes widening as he stopped and straightened up. Tim stopped as well, turning his head towards him. Whatever had distorted his voice had been destroyed. It rang out all too familiar, his tone clear and unmistakable. Part of his mask was smashed to pieces as well. Revealed beneath was a hint of full lips and a distinct, pronounced jawline. 

Lastly, and maybe most unsettling of all, one of the lenses of his goggles was shattered and missing. An eye that shown as white and opaque as an overcast sky locked gazes with Rhys. He could see more of the scar the man sported now, craggy and deep, the groove an angry reddish-purple, skin puckered around it. Rhys was already putting together the pieces, his mouth working but no sound coming out. 

“Yeah, I know,” Tim said in Jack’s voice, sounding defeated as he registered the reaction. “This isn’t the way I wanted you to find out about me. Sorry.”

As if on cue, Jack stepped into the space between the pair, blocking Rhys’ field of vision. His back was to him, hands on his hips as he spoke as if Rhys wasn’t the only one who could hear him.

“Great. Just great. Nice going, Timmy. You always did know how to royally fuck things up.”


	5. Under the Skin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was heavily fueled by Oingo Boingo's song [Skin](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nSDVK_snQIs)

The pretense was gone. 

A few flicks of his fingers and Tim was pulling the mask off in its entirety, revealing more of that unmistakable face. It was streaked with blood from shallow wounds where the metal had bit into his skin upon the impact of flesh and bone. There was a bruise already forming on his cheek. 

All that didn’t matter. The visage had been unveiled, as had any assumptions Rhys had made about the man. Jack was right. He’d been so right it made his blood feel like ice in his veins. Tim was his old CEO risen from the dead; a bastard to the core, bloodthirsty when it suited him. 

But Tim didn’t seem like someone who’d traversed the rabbit hole that Handsome Jack might’ve dug for him. Not entirely. There was something behind those heterochromatic eyes and grisly scar that spoke of a despair that Jack probably had never known. 

“Quit making moony eyes at him,” a voice snapped.

Blue pixels appeared before Rhys. Jack’s brows were drawn, a definite annoyed look on his face. If not for the visual manifestation, Rhys wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference between Tim’s and the AI’s voices. 

“I know he’s the flesh and blood equivalent of me right now,” Jack continued, “but he _isn’t me_.”

“No fucking kidding,” Rhys said aloud.

The body double gave a nod as if Rhys had been directing the words at him. “I typically give people a head’s up. Who knew we’d get into a situation like this.” He paused. “You really shouldn’t have left.”

“You couldn’t have just maybe given me a hint? It’s not like rumors of body doubles haven’t been floating around Hyperion for years.”

“I had my slip ups since we’ve met. Could never quite get rid of the pet name habit. Plus you could kinda see the scar.” The doppelganger seemed to get dragged under by his own thoughts for a second. “Anyway, a rumor and the real deal are pretty different.”

“Seems like it.” Rhys’ voice was dry, not even address the mention of the scar. He simply hadn’t put two and two together, and he felt like a jackass for it.

Tim’s face crumpled into a hangdog expression. He looked like he’d just been given grave news.

“Just take me back to the room,” Rhys muttered. “I need to think.”

“Not just think,” Jack piped up. “You need a game plan. We can’t take Tim with us. Now you believe me that everything about him is bad for your health?”

“Shut up, Jack.”

A gaze so intense Rhys thought it might sear through his flesh was directed to him from Tim. The man looked suddenly murderous, as if he was just a scant few inches from pummeling Rhys’ hide. Still, he made no move to do so, turning his back on him.

“Never call me that again,” he all but snarled. “I didn’t even fucking say anything to you.”

“Sorry, I just, I don’t know.”

There was no reply from Tim. Rhys could tell from the hunch of his shoulders and stiffness of his movements that he was beyond infuriated. He wanted to tell Tim that he hadn’t been speaking to him, that it was a holographic apparition that had provoked him. But he knew he couldn’t. Proving that fact was impossible at the moment, and he didn’t need any more tension escalating between them. 

They walked in silence, footsteps plodding and weighted down by their collective mood. Even Jack seemed abnormally subdued. Without his gear, Tim’s face was on full display, bruised and broken and half-blind. Some denizens stared at him with obvious distaste, but most seemed indifferent, even pitying. Rhys didn’t think the people here could feel anything like pity, after what had happened to him, but he was glad to be wrong. Tim had called this a decent town. It was clear now that he meant decent in the way that they didn’t harass him for his ties to the corporate scumbag who had almost succeeded in destroying their planet. As far as suppression went, though, Jack had done a lot more than almost. Those were the traits Rhys admired about him; that he could accomplish what he set out to do. Other than that, there was an intrinsic fear of Jack that seemed to lurk in the lizard parts of his brain. 

Though no conversation passed between them, Rhys could tell that Tim was giving him the occasional glance from the corner of his good eye. Perhaps making sure he was still there and hadn’t hightailed it into the unknown wilderness. Words only bloomed when they came upon the entrance to _Hel’s Ditch_ , albeit curt and without emotion.

“If you’re hungry I have a tab here,” Tim said. “Eat whatever. And try not to get into any tete-a-tetes again. I can’t be there to save your ass every time.”

Rhys thanked him and Tim fled, leaving him at the front door while he went back around to the side entrance. If he weren’t more in shock than anything, Rhys would’ve felt annoyed. Tim was acting as if _he’d_ done something wrong when he’d been dead honest with him since their first meeting. Kind of. He guessed not revealing the holographic Jack he had stuffed in his head wasn’t telling the whole truth. 

Nobody was really in the pub at this hour, and those that were seemed too busy huddled over their drinks to pay him any mind as he entered. He didn’t know how the service worked here, so he bellied up to the bar, the bartender raising eyebrows at him. It was then that he realized Jack was no longer with him, had vanished some time ago. He was on his own here, and the natives didn’t look all that keen on extending invitations to strangers.

“Uhm, Timothy sent me,” Rhys said, trying for a jovial tone. “He said to put everything on his tab.”

“Did he now?” The bartender picked up a glass and began polishing it. He wore a skull cap tight to his bald head that may have been a brilliant red once. Faded now, it resembled the color of dried blood. His thermal shirt was rolled up to the elbows, cargo overalls completing the outfit. “Got any proof?”

“Proof?” Opening his mouth, Rhys shut it quickly. 

“Yeah, proof. Timmy don’t go around just letting people use his tab all willy nilly.”

“Oh. No. I don’t.”

Rhys began to pull away from the bar, figuring he’d just find a booth in the back instead and wait until Tim came back for him. But then there was a rich cackle, the slap of flesh against the wooden bartop.

“I’m just screwing with you, robo boy,” the bartender called out. “The more credits Tim owes me, the better. And with all the folk he’s always playing the charitable bloke for, it’s good business. Take a seat wherever. I’ll get someone out to you.”

At least they hadn’t called him corporate scum, though he could’ve done without the lame ribbing, gentle as it was. Rhys found a table apart from everyone else and felt his stomach grumble as soon as he sat down. As much as he’d been through since he’d arrived in Helion’s Gulch, his daily necessities were taking precedence now. Tim’s identity, his ties to Jack, the fact that Jack had spoken the truth—all of that was drifting out in Rhys’ brain juices to the furthest reaches of his thoughts. All he wanted right now was a meal. It didn’t even have to be good.

Tamping down his restlessness, he waited until a woman in a plain dress approached him. She wasn’t smiling, not exactly. But she looked friendly enough.

“House grog?” she asked. “I recommend the prawn chowder, too. It’s the freshest thing on the menu.”

**xxx**

With teeth gritted, Timothy growled and squeezed his eyes shut as the anshin went deep, deep into his wounded shoulder. Polly was far from gentle and horribly old-fashioned, believing the most effective treatment was to apply it directly to the source. Her calloused hands held him down in his seat as he struggled, muscles rippling as he kept throwing her off.

“Oi, Tim!” she barked. “If you won’t keep still, then I won’t be tending to you. Now drink this and calm down.”

She shoved a bottle of unmarked amber liquor into his hand. At once he was tipping it to lips, nearly choking as the substance flowed into his mouth like a fountain, splashing on his chin and down his neck. He handed it back to her with a hiss of breath. 

“That better?”

“I’ll tell you in a minute,” Tim answered, voice thick with the residue of alcohol.

A cloth brushed his face, gentle as it passed over the cuts and scratches there. He winced, though the pain was more a dull edge than a razored blade. That was, until it dragged over his scar. Most of the time the old wound was devoid of any pain, just a crater of a mark that made his features all too recognizable and twisted them into some marred, ugly thing. He still remembered when Jack had fallen to the vault hunters, dreams of baptism by fire burning up in irony. There had been broadcasts across the galaxy of the fallen king. Or what was left of him, body broken and bloody. The images of the monster’s true face were plastered hither and yon, on display for all to jeer at and mock. Those features were burned into the memories of all that had loathed him until the day Hyperion ripped them from the media.

And Tim was wearing them. 

Of course now, of all times, the nerve endings had to be twitching with the remnants of life. It was just phantom pain but that only meant there’d be no definite end to his discomfort. 

“I’m going to have to suture you up,” Polly told him. “Anshin only goes so far, and that was the last of the lot.”

“Dammit, this was a new shirt.”

“It’s rubbish now anyway. Is that all you’re worried about?”

“No.” Closing his eyes, Tim let her destroy his shirt even further than it was. “Just be fast, ‘kay?”

“You know better than to rush me, lad.”

Breathing like a rakk hive on a hunt, Tim sat and waited for the first pinprick of pain, trying to think of something pleasant to keep his mind off what was happening. It was difficult. Very little in his life was concocted of decent memories, most of his mind a seething lava pit more suited to the depths of hell.

But the more his mind drifted, the more it fell upon the present. Specifically, the night he’d been patrolling the borderlands, bored and needing to make some profit. He’d cleared out the cluster of bandits that had taken up temporary residence on a nearby mesa (their numbers had been on the smallish side and pathetic, not even a need to whip out his watch), then had just decided to keep walking. Maybe he’d had a deathwish that night. It wouldn’t have been the first time. Seeing Rhys’ fire had keyed him up at first. He’d been about ready to charge in guns ablazing. But the lack of vehicles and guards had made him curious, and when he happened upon the other man, he was glad his rifle hadn’t been drawn. He didn’t think Rhys would’ve extended his trust so quickly if that had been the case.

Seeing Rhys’ face had been such a relief, too. Finally, someone who wasn’t some grizzled redneck or wrangler of some sort. He was even quite good-looking. That had been a nice surprise. The only problem was of _course_ he’d have to have been a Hyperion stooge.

Though that had been a red herring of sorts. Tim knew the typical Hyperion employee more intimately than he wished he did. Rhys broke the mold, and though Tim could detect that edge of arrogance he might conceal, it wasn’t insufferable. Jack might’ve even liked his distinct difference of character, had they ever met. The Hyperion CEO had adored surrounding himself with yes-men, but he was surprisingly critical of the hive mind.

Fuck, why was he even thinking of Jack? Almost every memory he had of the man was far from comforting. Even the neutral moments they’d had together were lacquered with discontent. 

“Shit!” he exclaimed as a sharp pain radiated from his shoulder and seared up his neck.

“It’s a horrid wound, Tim. Nothing I can do to ease what ails you that I haven’t already.” Polly pulled the stitching line tight, making him grunt. “I told you that boy was trouble.”

“It isn’t his fault he got attacked by a goddam psychopathic animal. He shouldn’t have been out there by himself, sure, but that doesn’t mean he deserved getting assaulted.”

“Who went after his hide, anyway? Can’t imagine there’d be many of us willing to _physically_ harass a corporate bloke, lest he was giving lip. Too integral to our livelihood.”

Tim’s voice was matter-of-fact. “The Mad Butcher.”

A jab of pain bit into Tim’s skin as Polly’s fingers slipped. He hissed, trying to control the spike of anger that welled up at her clumsiness.

“He’s a nasty specimen, he is. You can’t be sure that was him, though. Plenty imposters these last years.”

“I’d know that red-haired bastard anywhere. Hell, he got me with the same knife he almost took me out with last time.” He sighed. “What a joke. All the hell I’ve been trained to go through, and a pigsticker is what nearly kills me.”

“Don’t matter the weapon if a person knows how to wield it.”

Tim made a noise in his throat that could’ve meant anything. “Doesn’t matter, anyway. I killed him.”

“Now I’ll believe a lot of things I hear on this planet. Probably not my best trait. But someone putting down the Mad Butcher? That’s good for a right laugh. Last I heard, he wasn’t even human.”

“Well he sure suffocated like a human.”

“Did you even check his bloody pulse afterward?” She pulled extra hard on a stitch, the tan skin pinching together so taut it went almost white.

There was a long pause. “No.”

“Timothy Lawrence.” 

Polly’s face was suddenly inches from his own, round and pale, expression stern. Her hands went to her hips. Then, having lulled him into a false sense of security, one hand cut swiftly through the air, delivering a stinging slap to the side of his head.

“Ok, I deserved that,” he muttered.

“You can be so daft sometimes. I don’t even know how you’ve survived this long, especially looking like _that_.” She wiped her hands on her apron, turning her back on him. “Stitches are done. I’ll find you a new shirt. You just got to give me your word you’ll be a bit more careful from now on. And watch your bloody back. If that _was_ the Butcher, and you didn’t kill him? He’s gonna come for your arse.” 

“You know I can’t promise anything. And I’ll worry about the Butcher if the time comes.” Tim’s voice was quiet, subdued, as if he’d been given devastating news in the middle of hysterical laughter. “My spare clothes are in my pack upstairs.”

“Like I’d go through your skivvies. I’ll find you something decent. Even though you don’t deserve my hospitality.”

Left on his own, Tim had nothing to do but sit stewing in his own thoughts. Primarily, thoughts of what would unfold from here, now that Rhys had seen his face. In truth, the man had taken it much better than he thought. Sure there was tension and emotional overload. That was to be expected. But Rhys hadn’t made a scene, hadn’t accused him of heinous things right in the middle of town. Tim wouldn’t have blamed him if he had. Even if he tried to suppress every memory he’d ever had of Jack, he’d still never be able to claim ignorance. It was entwined in the very threads of his soul. Even in death, as much as he denied it, Jack still played a major role in how his life unfurled. It wasn’t just in Tim’s appearance. It was in his mannerisms, his thoughts, hell, even his dreams, though they should probably be called nightmares. 

Tim was lucky Rhys hadn’t just turned his back on him then and there. Slowly they were building a genuine camaraderie; one of the first new friends Tim had accumulated since coming to Pandora. He had Janey Springs, of course, when the chips were down. Her girlfriend Athena—maybe not so much. The Gladiator knew all too well what he was capable of and some of the stunts he had pulled under Hyperion’s banner. 

Despite all that, Tim didn’t know how he was going to face Rhys and have a true conversation with him now. Being Jack’s doppelganger was going to hang over their heads like a guillotine awaiting the inevitable severing. The other man had already called him Jack once. He’d just have to triple his efforts, show Rhys he was honest about being his own person despite the essence of megalomaniacal tyrant that made up a part of him.

Sliding the shirt over his head when Polly came back, Tim was careful not to move his stitched shoulder too much. It twinged anyway and he knew it would likely be doing that for the next few days. Noticing the shirt’s logo, he shook his head. _Pandora Psychos_ , it read, _Bloodbowl XXIII Champions_ complete with bloodied bandit mask logo crisscrossed with a trophy. 

“It was in the lost goods pile,” Polly said. At the face he pulled, she added, “I laundered it. Was going to pass it off to the sundries shop.”

“Thanks, Polly. You’re like the mom I wish I’d had.”

“I ain’t nobody’s mum. Now off with you. I got chores to tend to.”

He wasn’t smiling by the time he left, but Tim’s mood certainly felt lifted. He passed through the double doors that led into the kitchen, saying hello to the cooks, who raised questioning eyebrows at his bruised appearance. They were given no answers, his steps taking him through to the bar proper. Reggie waved to him from his post.

“Your businessman friend is off in the corner enjoying the hospitality,” he told Tim from behind the bar. “All but worried the living piss out of him when he entered. He’s aces now. Probably waiting for you.”

A salute, and Tim was scanning the room, gaze falling upon Rhys with ease. He was the only one there with an ECHO eye that glowed blatantly from where he stood staring down at a full glass and an empty bowl. The doppelganger shook his head, steeled himself for the encounter, and made his way over.

**xxx**

_Analysis Complete_

_“Grog”_

_3/4ths rum to one part water_

_Alcohol by Volume:_

_Overproofed at 80%_

_Probability of Intoxication at current physical status:_

_100%_

_Grog is Pandora’s oldest and newest beverage of choice primarily because of its simplicity. When water is scarce other substances may be substituted such as drake fruit juice or even the blood of one’s enemies. Pairs well with such delicacies as skag tartare and roasted spiderant._

Despite the readout from his ECHO eye, Rhys brought the glass to his lips and took a tentative sip. He expected to make a fool of himself and spit it across the table, but the flavor was a nice surprise. Sweet with some bite, it went down smooth. He was almost going to say something aloud about it when he remembered Jack wasn’t currently floating around anywhere. In fact, it had been some time since he’d seen the AI. Which was just south of normal. Jack made it a point to plague him at every possibility since he’d first been downloaded into his head. Though Rhys didn’t long for him to return, his absence was felt, and he couldn’t help but start trying to link some things in his head. The hologram had avoided mentioning anything about Timothy being his body double. He obviously had a grudge against the man, and he’d said as much, but now how much of that should Rhys be taking with a grain of salt? Was the bad blood between them more on Tim’s head or Jack’s? Or, hell, both? Rhys didn’t know either of them well enough to make a valid assumption. But he’d known enough of Jack’s life to come to understand part of his true ingenuity had been born from his conniving underbelly.

The floor creaked nearby and Rhys looked up from his drink. It nearly toppled and spilled as he reared back. Several seconds ticked by before he recognized the face before him, realizing that beneath the craggy wound and opaque eye, it was just a carbon copy of Jack. No, that wasn’t right. It was Jack, wounds and all. Rhys had never forgotten the images that had circled the headlines after the man’s death, or his shock and conflicted disappointment. In the end, Jack’s ambitions had grown bloated and overwrought. Though Rhys knew Jack was like a rabid pet that had _probably_ needed to be put down, he’d figured the man immortal, able to withstand even the most heinous plots against his life. It had been a harsh lesson.

“Hey, Rhys,” Tim said in a neutral tone, sounding as if he wanted to say more. 

The other man looked at him as if he were staring straight through him. “I didn’t take you for a Bloodbowl fan.”

At Tim’s obvious confusion, Rhys gestured towards his shirt.

“This? It’s not mine.”

“Oh. Guess it wouldn’t be.”

Not wanting to let silence settle in and make things even more awkward than they were, Tim went on. “Besides, I could never get away with rooting for anyone but the Hyperion Golden Sirens.”

Snorting from Rhys. “Tell me about it. I knew a guy who got sent to the brig for a week just for wearing an Eden-6 Vixens jersey on game day. Just another batshit Hyperion policy.” 

“Goddam, I hate sports,” Tim drawled.

A curt laugh escaped Rhys. “I can get behind that statement.” He indicated for Tim to sit and, relieved that he didn’t have to ask, the doppelganger took up a chair opposite him.

“Listen, I—,” he began, but was waved to silence.

“I’m sure you have a very long, drawn out apology for me ready but—”

“Actually, I don’t.”

“What?” Rhys shook his head. “Guess that’s even better, then. Because I just want to know one thing about you. And you have to answer me truthfully.”

“Just one thing? Wow. Alright. I guess I owe you that much.”

“Cool.” Flesh hand going to the back of his neck, Rhys rubbed the tension there, taking another gulp of his drink. “How did you end up leaving Handsome Jack’s employment prior to him getting killed?”

“That’s a loaded question.” There was a long, suffering sigh from Tim, his fingernail digging into the wooden tabletop, scratching at it. “Wait, how did you know that?”

“Because.” Rhys looked down in thought, trying to spin an answer without mentioning the AI. “If you hadn’t been gone by then, I’m pretty sure it would’ve been your funeral everyone attended and Jack would’ve miraculously risen from the dead.”

“Fair enough.” Lips twisting, it almost looked like a smile was trying to form on Tim’s face. “So. Here’s how it was. Truncated version, cos I hate talking about this.”

“That bad, huh?”

“You can’t imagine. But Jack wasn’t always...the way you might’ve knew him. He seemed decent enough. At least on the outside. I mean, he was still an asshole, of course. And he obviously was making plans, otherwise the body double program would’ve never happened. But that ain’t here or there. Fact is, I did something very stupid for a not-entirely-stupid reason and ended up, well, looking the way I do now. Except the scar. That came later.”

“Huh. Interesting. What exactly happened?”

“I woke up one day and realized I’d become a monster. It was a long time coming, I guess. I’d stood by and let everything Jack did happen and only cared about my own survival. We destroyed lives as if they were commodities with no exceptions, both in the office and the field. A lot of the times I was the one who had to execute his plans. And what he did to his own flesh and blood….” Good eye no longer on Rhys, there was a faraway look in it, as if it were glazed in the film of memory. “I was a selfish dickhead then. But even _I_ ended up having my limits. I think it drove the final nail in the coffin, when the girl died.”

“Uh, what girl?”

“Ah, I’ll tell you some other time. It’s a whole nother can of worms.”

“You just walked out on him and disappeared after that.” It was more statement than question. “Seriously, that must’ve taken balls.”

“Handsome Jack wasn’t a boogie man to me anymore. He was just the malicious piper while I was the one dancing to his tune. It was easier to escape than you might think. Though he made continuous attempts to hunt me down. Even pleaded with me.”

“I’d laugh if this wasn’t such a serious conversation.”

“It’s more hilarious when you add in the fact he would plead on hands and knees, whining about how much he needed me.”

“No way. I’ve _got_ to get on his case about that one.”

His features screwing into something laden with confusion, Tim’s eyebrows lifted into his hairline. He eyed Rhys’ glass.

“Have a little too much to drink there, buddy?”

The other man looked at a loss. Until he realized what he’d said. Nervous laughter bubbled up from his chest. “Maybe. I don’t even know what I meant by that.” 

“It’s cool. The sauce here will do that to you.”

That seemed to end the conversation. When he’d had enough of the grog, Rhys passed the remainder to Tim, who knocked it back in one impressive gulp. The man dug a few crumpled paper bills from his pants pocket when he was done and dumped them on the table for tip.

“I’ll go grab the stuff from the room,” he said. “Wait here.”

“Oh, we’re leaving?”

“That’s the plan. After we hit up the store and splurge a bit on new supplies. Guy there owes me some credits. Hopefully enough to set us up with a vehicle.”

“Sounds good to me. And Tim?”

“Yeah?”

“Sorry for putting you on the spot there. I’m still processing who I’ve managed to pick up as a travelling companion.”

“Hey, I get it. I’m a bit of a novelty, if not an old one. Just don’t rag on me for my poor life choices and we’ll be golden.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it. I pride myself on my lack of hypocrisy.”

“Then here’s to a glorious partnership.” Though it pained him to do so, Tim managed a small, toothy grin. “Be back in a sec. Don’t piss anyone off.”

**xxx**

It was difficult to predict the reaction they’d receive once the pair of them entered the Goods and Sundries shop. At least to Rhys. Utter indifference was far from what he’d been expecting, though, given the sight they were: A businessman and a Handsome Jack double, crowding through the door as both blundered on who should walk in first. It ended up being Rhys, Tim trailing behind without haste. The store was bustling, the wizened looking man with the thick beard at the register looking burdened until a much younger boy in a straw hat came to his aid. Tim told Rhys to look around while he approached the counter. He gravitated to the racks and shelves marked new apparel, spirits falling a bit when he realized that most of the clothing was far from stylish. Built to withstand wear and tear, the articles were plain and drab and, when he did a more thorough investigation, secondhand. Far from his preferred wardrobe, he still made an attempt to sift through what was available. A little coordination and any outfit could come right from the pages of a men’s fashion magazine. Right?

He was just inspecting a pair of cargo jeans and a semi-matching vest when a voice spoke up.

“I got the credits. What you have there?” 

Thinking it was the AI, Rhys readied his best snarky answer. Waiting for Jack to show up and mock the available clothing had been almost a game. He turned, trying not to flinch as he met Tim’s ruined face for the umpteenth time, the one remaining eye blinking at him as he stood there in silence. 

“You should be used to seeing my face by now,” Tim said, tone dry.

He was, but he sure wasn’t used to seeing a _living_ version of Handsome Jack when he was expecting a bright blue apparition. Speaking of, the citizens of Helion’s Gulch must’ve been _real_ familiar with Tim to not freak out every time he walked around in public without his facial gear. If Rhys didn’t know him, he would’ve been terrified. 

“It’s not that,” Rhys was quick to answer. “Well, maybe it is. It’s just that—how’s everyone so calm about you?”

“I wouldn’t say calm. They’re just used to me I guess. And hey, after they’re ready to lynch you for no good reason and you just happened to save their little redneck town hours beforehand, people tend to be real nice to you.”

Going back to the clothing selection, Rhys found some more articles to his liking, holding them up for Tim to inspect, who just shrugged at most of them. Maybe that was an after effect of having to be someone who knew only the most extremes of fashion for so long: someone who was no longer concerned with the clothes one wore on their back. He could see how that kind of counteractive thinking could be satisfying, considering who Tim was.

Finding some adequate items, they were brought into the closet that served as a fitting room, Rhys resigning himself to having to wear someone else’s clothing. It was clean, right? They had to clean it before selling it. That’s why there was a distinct lack of bloodstains and grime. This is what he convinced himself with as he pulled on shirts and tugged up pants. Jack continued to refrain from appearing, probably missing several opportunities to jeer at Rhys’ tastes and predicament. Picking two outfits out, Rhys kept one on, folding his old clothing up. Tim was checking out an array of bandanas displayed on mannequin heads when he emerged. Poor man’s version of his broken facial gear, likely. Two different pairs of industrial goggles dangled from his hand. 

Looking up at Rhys, a small smile graced his features. “Now you look like a proper native.”

“You really don’t mind fitting the bill? I would, but all my assets have been frozen. And the moment I even _try_ to access them or attempt a hack, Hyperion will be all over me.”

“You can hack?” 

“Wrote my own program and everything.”

“I never did quite pick it up even after all those lessons Jack gave me.”

“You were taught by _Jack_? Man, I’d give up one of my internal organs to have had that privilege. He was a brilliant programmer.”

There was a look Tim gave Rhys that made the man’s thoughts wither and die before any more of them could form.

“We should pay. And stuff,” he said quickly, flushing red as he all but dashed away.

There were miscellaneous other items that they added to their purchase, like protein bars and canned food. Tim wasn’t even phased by the total, handing over more of the paper money he’d had earlier and throwing most of the stuff into his rucksack. Outside the shop, he strapped one of the goggle pairs to his face, adjusting them for a seamless fit. A bandana was tied around his neck, situated for easy use, in case he need to go suddenly incognito. Rhys noticed it had a vault symbol emblazoned on it, which seemed a bit morbid considering the shape of Tim’s scar. That was another question he had, of course. Tim had mentioned that _hadn’t_ been part of his initial transformation, and it raised a multitude of theories in his head, none of which could be confirmed without asking. He’d save that conversation for the road. There’d be plenty of time to talk about things further there. 

Though Rhys expected to feel self-conscious in his new clothes as they moved through the town, they were far more comfortable than he’d expected. The dark pants he wore were tight but flexible with a faint plaid pattern, his black v-neck tee cut deep enough to reveal a hint of bright ink poking out from his collar. A long hooded tactical vest he wore over it was both practical and stylish. He looked like he belonged on the planet among Pandora’s rugged, unwashed masses. Even Tim was checking him out. Either that, or he was staring at the revealed yet still clandestine tattoo. Deciding not to say anything at the moment, Rhys filed the thought away. 

Their destination lay beyond the town gate, which had them trekking through the sand and under the blistering sun once more. It was a blessing they didn’t have far to go, as they came upon a small roadside garage settlement that was dirty and damaged by the probable buffeting of sand. There was a logo outside of it stuck on a pole that towered above the facility, probably built to be seen from long distances. In fiery script it read ‘Keifer’s Kustom Kulture’. The sign looked like it may have been able to rotate at some point, the function gutted long, long ago. 

A chime went off as they stepped into the tiny office attachment, the lack of space so drastic that the two of them standing side by side could barely be accomodated. A heavily tattooed and rubenesque man appeared from a door behind the counter, his dreads whipping back and forth as he shook his head upon seeing Tim.

“Oh, no,” he drew out, slamming a beefy palm down on the counter. “Oh hell fucking no. Get your ass out of my shop before I go get a tire iron and make that face even uglier.”

“Aw, come on, Keifer. Aren’t you happy to see me? I’m your best customer.”

“You’ve wrecked every vehicle I’ve ever loaned you.” He made quotes in the air with his fingers as he mentioned the word loaned. “Every last one. My babies can’t take this kind of treatment.” 

“Like they’d make it for very long on Pandora anyway,” Tim muttered.

“What did you say? Ah, doesn’t matter. I know what you’re gonna ask. I can smell your brain cooking with the best possible way to approach me. And my answer is still no. Not until you get yourself driving lessons.”

“I’ll drive.”

Both Tim and the man known as Keifer looked at Rhys, who ducked his head and wondered why he had even spoken up. 

“I have a passenger class license for automatic and manual motorized vehicles.” He soldiered on under the scrutiny, trying not to stutter. “I can bring up the information if you don’t believe me.” 

“I believe you, Mr. Roboto. But have you ever wrangled a V10, one-thousand HP _beast_?”

“With or without a carburetor?”

“They all have carbs.” The man rolled his eyes and blew air through his bottom lip. “What the hell does that have to do with it anyway.?”

“I, er, was making sure you’re legit. Can’t trust just anyone out here.”

A hand came down on Rhys’ shoulder. Turning, he saw Tim was shaking his head at him.

“Come on, Tim, let him keep talking. He’s highly amusing.” Keifer plucked a key off one of the rings on the wall beside him. “Was going to give you the kiddie car regardless. Come on out back and get ‘er if you’re so eager.”

The door shut behind him, leaving the pair standing there.

“Next time,” Tim said, “you might want to let me handle things.”

“But nothing happened.”

The other man rubbed at his chin, looking on the verge of opening his mouth. Then he seemed to decide against it, smoothing his hair back and leaving the claustrophobic space. Rhys didn’t dwell on things any longer. He dogged Tim’s trail, coming around the garage to see yet another garage situated behind it, albeit smaller. Keifer was lifting the door, the guts of the interior too darkened to make anything out. At least not until the overhead lights came on, bathing the vehicles cramped into the space in harsh electric.

“There she is,” Keifer pointed out, indicating a smallish car in the middle of the line. He sounded bored with the whole ordeal. “She’s virtually the equivalent of training wheels. You fuck her up and you better not even _think_ of coming back here.”

“You said that last time,” Tim deadpanned, tilting his head. He made his way closer, coming around the other cars in the space. There was a moment where he went still, not even so much as twitching a muscle. “Oh, godammit,” he finally spat out.

Curious, Rhys followed, grimacing and scratching his head when he saw the vehicle in question.

“That’s certainly...something,” was all he could say.


	6. Nightfall, Moonshine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> February being the shortest month makes this seem to me like it took longer than it did. In a general work sense, I aim to do 1-2 chapters a month, depending, so I guess I still hit my goal. That being said, this is probably the longest chapter to date at a little over 7k. These chapters just seem to be getting longer on me.
> 
> Enjoy!

The very definition of foresight was being able to perceive what would happen somewhere, sometime in the future without actual psychic ability. One could bank it on gut instinct, a sixth sense as it were. It was a combination of perception, logic, intelligence, experience. What it wasn’t was without fault, as human error had a way of compromising these things.

Nakayama, brilliant as the man had been, had achieved the elasticity of foresight when he’d programmed Handsome Jack. Unfortunately, it had come with all the errors and fallacies that besotted something otherwise organic. The AI’s processing of potential outcomes was no better than it had been when Jack was alive. Of course, he’d cheated a bit when it came to foresight in life. Seeing an entire future unfurl via alien technology could do that to you. Granted, it hadn’t shown him his own demise. Not in a way he’d been able to interpret. On a whole, though, he’d witnessed things others had no prior knowledge of. Except maybe the Eridians. But they were too ancient to be considered relevant. 

Whatever case his life had been considered, Jack’s afterlife was governed by a different set of rules and those regulators didn’t grant him omniscience. Case in point: When Tim’s true identity had been revealed to Rhys, Jack was sure the kid would have good reason to finally question the doppelganger’s loyalties and ambitions. Anybody with a goddam brain in their head would’ve. As highly as Jack regarded himself, he knew there were plenty of people who simply didn’t see him as the brilliant force behind positive change. Even Hyperion employees were occasionally wary. Which was probably why he had killed so many, disappointing as it could be. All of them could’ve avoided their fates if they’d just _done better_ and kept the faith. 

Tim’s impending interrogation had never happened. Not really, or not that Jack knew of. The kid had just _accepted_ Tim as if he were some lame, lost pet that needed tending to. Which Tim wasn’t or didn’t. At least in retrospect. That’s what his training should’ve made him worlds apart from. Nobody understood that more so than Jack. His doppelganger might’ve been a jackass most of the time but he was also deadly; he was _Jack_. Ok, so he’d been shit at coding but not all minds were qualified to understand coding at a Handsome Jack level.

So Rhys was a complete jackass himself, too optimistic, a little on the naive side for an Hyperion employee. Maybe he just had _too_ much faith. Putting that into other people you didn’t know was beyond brain dead, in Jack’s opinion. The outcome was too random, the consequences too dire. Relying on yourself—that was your key to most kingdoms. It was an important lesson he’d lectured Tim about many times.

And yet here Tim was with Rhys, relaxed and unhindered, almost enjoying himself. Even if he wasn’t outright showing it, Jack knew his disposition all too well to not recognize the signs of content. It sickened him, seeing his body double so freakin’ _carefree_. That went against all his training, his very purpose. And Rhys was just eating this shit up like he was desperate for companionship. Before Tim had come along, Jack had been helping him out just fine. The AI had taught him how to use his cybernetics more efficiently and everything. If not for Jack, Rhys would’ve died from exposure or something. And then Tim had come along and ruined _everything_. Hatred had weighted down the AI regarding Tim before, but now it blazed like a bonfire out of control. Goddam, he might’ve even wanted to kill the guy. No longer an expensive, important investment, there was no reason for him to still exist other than to be a vessel for Jack, should there be a way to perform such a transplant.

Though he must still have the digiwatch. That, of course, was Jack’s main reason for being so patient. Conceived from his own schematics, the abilities of the watch were vast with a wealth of potential. What Tim had relied on all those years ago was just the initial phase of something that could be exploited so much further. Jack had never bothered with it while he was alive because he didn’t want Tim with that much power at his fingertips. That, and he’d never trusted AI’s much. Thy were useful in their own ways but ultimately were too uncanny for his tastes and could easily slip within the cracks of humanity and puppeteer things. Keeping the loaderbots simple was part of his ploy to keep AI’s confined to strict paradigms. The irony of such ideals now was not lost on him.

With that watch, Jack could be more than just some transparent apparition. He could be himself again, whole. Maybe still blue, maybe still incorporeal, but something better than what he currently was.

Handsome Jack could make his ultimate return.

Giving the illusion of putting his feet up on the dashboard, Jack folded his hands behind his head and narrowed his eyes in concentration. In the driver’s seat beside him, Rhys was scanning a map, doing some hoodoo with his magic eye. Tim had gone off behind some tall standing rocks to take a piss. Only the cry of rakks from high above was cutting through the air at the moment, the desert silent otherwise. That was the thing about Pandora. When there weren’t bandits, or Psychos, or killer fauna (and even flora) roaming its withered terrain, it could be one of the quietest places. Far quieter than Helios had ever been. Jack careened his head toward the sky, eyeing the space station as if it were a predator ready to pounce on him. What had gone on up there while he was gone? What was going on _now_? Who the hell was even running the place, Blake? Asking Rhys was probably his best option, but as soon as he opened his mouth, the other man warded him off without even looking at him.

“Ain’t nice to ignore people, pumpkin.”

“You were gone for a whole day,” Rhys said, still not taking his eyes off the map. “Maybe more. It’s hard to keep track on this planet.”

“I needed some alone time. Not _that_ kind of alone time. Don’t even know if I can do that anymore.” Jack’s glance at his crotch was blatantly obvious. “But being around you two braying asses was wearing out the old coding.”

“So you’re saying you can’t stand having to deal with yourself?” 

The only way Jack saw Rhys’ smirk was by teleporting from the passenger seat to the hood of the car, standing there looking down at the other man with his hands on his hips as if he were some towering conqueror. 

“Oh, you think you’re real funny there, don’t ya?” When Rhys didn’t answer, Jack turned his back on him, scanning the vast, barren desert. “Where is that simpering d-bag anyway? It doesn’t take this long to drain the snake.”

That seemed to get Rhys’ attention. He lifted his head, gaze drifting toward the boulder formations the other man had disappeared behind some time ago. There was nothing to indicate if he was still there or not, though a quick scan with his ECHO eye let Rhys know that he had nothing to worry about. 

“He’s fine,” Rhys informed the AI before getting back to his map.

“The hell you doing anyway?” Jack asked, looking over his shoulder.

“Committing the map to my memory banks. This way I won’t need to rely on it anymore for getting around Pandora. At least this part of Pandora.”

“God, I _hate_ sand,” came Tim’s voice, loud enough to be considered shouting. “Goddam mites. They’re _everywhere_.”

Moments later, the man himself was coming around the side of the rocks, goggles pushed up to his forehead so that his hair looked even more unkempt, clothes in disarray, pants unzipped. By his appearance alone, one might think he was being chased by something with vicious claws and numerous teeth but he only battered at himself, letting out the occasional squawk of exacerbation. 

Rhys couldn’t help but snicker, using the map to cover his face. 

“Maybe you should warn him the Pandoran variety like to lay their eggs under human skin,” Jack commented.

“Jeez. Musta stepped in a nest. I’m gonna have welts on my damn—”

“Please don’t finish that sentence.” Rhys peered over the edge of the map. “I don’t need anymore nightmares.”

“Bollocks,” Tim said. Whether he was using it as an expletive or describing his plight was unclear. Approaching the car, he gave a heavy sigh, Rhys looking over at him.

More importantly, at the clearly visible waistband of his boxer-briefs. His stare may have lingered too long because Tim followed his gaze, fingers fumbling to close his pants.

“Oh, uhm. Glad I didn’t go commando today.” He tried to sound impish but was betrayed by the tips of his ears and cheeks, which were tinged red. 

“Yeah, uh, sure.” 

Rhys cleared his throat, not knowing why he was so flustered. Not like he hadn’t seen most of Tim’s body already. A thought popped into his head, idle but there. Ignoring it was futile but he attempted it anyway, trying to lure himself with thoughts of his impending reunion. It wouldn’t be long before he saw Vaughn and the girls again. That was, if they were still in Hollow Point when he and Tim got there. According to Tim, they still had a ways to go but were making good time.

The day or so he’d spent driving with the other man had been uneventful. They’d passed the occasional bandit camp or gutted town, watchtowers standing tall in the distance but nobody firing at them from their tops. Nobody had given them chase. Nothing had even regarded the vehicle with a second glance, including an alpha skag that Rhys was sure was going to pounce on their jalopy and wrench it open like a tin can.

Maybe the car was just _that_ embarrassing to be seen around.

_—Oh, godammit.  
—That’s certainly...something._

It _had_ been something; something Rhys had never wanted to squeeze his skinny ass into ever again at any cost. The car had probably had a shiny coat of paint at one point. Now it was just the dull, pitted orange of rust that ran through so deep Rhys had made sure he couldn’t just poke a hole in it with his finger. Even so, parts had flaked off at his cybernetic touch, crumbling to the garage floor where he was sure the car’s guts were probably lying. They weren’t but that didn’t mean the entire exhaust system wasn’t hanging by a thread. The chassis was solid, though, Keifer had claimed, and she had _under one hundred and fifty thousand miles_ on her. Tim had muttered something about wishing Scooter had expanded his business this far and what the fuck was he waiting for, which the mechanic had thankfully not overheard.  
Not only that, but the car was of the compact variety, two bucket seats in the front with a bare minimum of a backseat. Keifer claimed that made her light and fast, the engine situated in back instead of under the hood. Rhys just thought that whoever designed the car had no business being in the motor vehicle engineering field. When the mechanic revealed that that person had been himself, Rhys did his best to keep his mouth sealed shut.

Once everything had been settled, he and Tim had arranged themselves in the uncomfortable front seat, opened the heavy fabric map the mechanic gave them as a bonus and pushed the gas pedal to the breaking point, fumes filling the air inside the claustrophobic interior. Tim had been irate as they left. Not only because he felt they’d been fucked over (Rhys hadn’t seen how much he’d handed over to Keifer to use the car but he could guess it was exorbitant) but also because Rhys had been the one to have to get behind the wheel first. The mechanic hadn’t been joking when he’d said that he didn’t trust Tim’s driving skills. There was no way in Pandoran hell he was letting the doppelganger handle one of his vehicles again, even if it was a rust bucket.

“I was thinking maybe we could switch up now,” Tim’s voice rang out. He leaned against the car, his reluctance to get back in obvious. “You’ve been driving this whole way so far.”  
“Sure. I mean, it’s easier for me. It handles like shit and my ECHO eye helps me keep balanced. But go for it, if you want.”

There was an unamused look from Tim. He reached in the backseat, grabbing his pack and digging into it. “That sounds a bit sarcastic.”  
“I’m just being realistic.”

As if he were tearing the head off something with his teeth, Tim bit into a protein bar. “I’m a goddam vault hunter. Was. I can handle it.”

Noticing he didn’t mention anything about being a body double, Jack teleported from the hood next to him, shaking his head. “He ain’t wrong,” he said. “He’s shit at it, but he _did_ have to learn to operate all kinds of vehicles. Car’s about as simple as it gets.”

Since Rhys was focusing on Jack, he didn’t respond to Tim right away. The other man seemed perturbed, taking another vicious bite of his food.

“Do you know what a bitch it is to drive a Stingray? On freakin’ _Elpis_ of all places.”

“Aw, he’s just bent out of shape cos he almost fell into boiling hot lava a few times.” This from Jack, who looked highly amused by Tim’s dilemma. “Oh, I know. Ask him about the height thing.”

“The heights what?” Rhys replied without thinking.

Tim paled at first. Then his features twisted, suspicion overriding any knee-jerk reaction. “Ok, that was too good of a guess. What, those cyber parts make you freakishly telepathic or something?”

“Oh, come on. That sounds ridiculous and you know it.”

“I dunno. I’ve seen enough sci-fi holos to warrant a suspension of belief.”

Setting the map down, Rhys threw up his hands. “The only predictions I can make are based in scientific calculations. That’s _all_.”

“You sure?” Tim squinted. “Have you got any experiences where you lost control? I’ve heard of that too. Sentient cybernetics, I mean.” 

Though there wasn’t any real tension, the pair bickered for a bit more over the topic, the conversation dying by way of Rhys’ misfires. Chewing noises filled the air where words had been, becoming obnoxious in their frequency. A sigh escaped Rhys, his lungs feeling like there was too much air in them, like he was going to burst from it. He slipped from the vehicle, not getting very far. Tim swallowed down the rest of his food and called after him.

“Don’t wander too far. There’s plenty of things out here that will try and eat you if they can.”

“I’ll be fine. I just need a moment.”

“Alright, sure.” 

If Tim’s voice hadn’t been so neutral, Rhys would’ve thought the man was mocking him. Likely he was but it was so well concealed that Rhys couldn’t be certain. Even being able to see Tim’s face now, in all its macabre glory, wasn’t much help. He was too good at being stoic if he needed to. Anybody who’d been around Jack for as long as Tim probably had likely needed to hone that ability beyond perfection. Not that Rhys had any first hand experiences with Jack’s demeanor when he’d been alive other than being spat on. But the CEO had been notoriously high strung. Anything anywhere at anytime could set him off. Thankfully his AI was only a shadow of that thus far. 

“I’ll be right here until you get back.”

“Ok, cards on the table, Rhys,” came a voice behind him once he’d passed by a dune and was out of earshot of Tim. “Let’s cut the bullshit. Cos I’m getting _real_ impatient with the two of you.”

Without stopping, Rhys glanced to his side to see Jack appear there, the AI falling into step with him.

“Don’t look at me like that. Alright, so you saw Tim’s face now. You know what the big goddam mystery is. Fun’s over. Time for us to get back to work.”

“And what work might that be?” Rhys’ voice was more inquisitive than wry.

“You were gonna help me take back what’s mine.”

“I said I’d think about it. Now that I know who Tim is, though? I’m not sure you weren’t just feeding me bullshit.”

“I’ll lay it out for you. I maybe did a few things that Tim wasn’t very…in agreement with. I’ll admit that. Ya know the thing about progress in business, right? Moving forward means sometimes other people get in your way and you just gotta get ya hands dirty taking care of it. Otherwise your potential gets held back and all. We’re all guilty of it, as pillars of industry.”

“You’re not entirely wrong.”

“Course I ain’t. Hyperion was never as successful as it was when I was in the captain’s seat.”

“It also didn’t have a mile high club when it came to an employee body count.”

“What, ya want me to feel guilty about that? Rhysie, Rhysie. My practices were effective. Production was through the roof. Profits? The competition paled. Our employee package was the best in the galaxy. Competitive salaries, healthcare for all employees and their families and exclusive vacationing rights. What more could you ask for in a corporate position? It’s why people like _you_ wanted to work for people like _me_.”

“Again, I didn’t say you were wrong, Jack.”

“Then what’s the problem, pumpkin? What’s got ya bloomers in a bind?”

“You. You’re just—” Rhys made an inarticulate noise that mostly consisted of vowels.

“I’m not sure what language that was, but I feel ya. Ever since this AI business, I ain’t myself.”

“No. That’s not what I meant.” As if he couldn’t bear the weight of keeping himself upright any longer, Rhys collapsed to the sand, drawing his knees up as he settled down. Jack remained standing, looking out across the distance. “I just want to get to Hollow Point and meet back up with Vaughn and get on with everything. That’s all I wanted. Tim’s been a real help, but I don’t need the bullshit of dealing with you _and_ him and whatever went down between you two. He doesn’t even know you exist and I feel like I’m about to lose my mind.”

“Whoa, easy there, meat buddy. Don’t give yourself a coronary.”

“Now we have this _stupid_ car that could fall apart and strand us at any moment and you’re all like, oh, I need your help to stab Tim in the back, because you can do stuff and I can’t.”

“Eh, kid, you might want to can it. This isn’t exactly the safest—”

“No. No, you shut up for once and listen. I need to say these things.”

“I’m not stopping ya. But I am. Because—”

“Quit interrupting me, Jack.”

As Rhys’ voice rose in volume, the ground rumbled, a slight tremor shifting the rocks there. He stopped mid-sentence, mouth hanging open as he puzzled over the phenomenon.  
“Rhys, get up,” Jack told him, voice curt.

Even if Jack’s tone had been one easy to disobey, Rhys probably would’ve scrambled to his feet regardless. Beneath him he could feel things churning under the sand, thrumming with life. For all his efforts, he was still too slow, a sinkhole opening up not far from him, something sizable worming its way to the surface. 

When the thresher’s bulbous head broke through, its opaque, orb-like eyes seeming to focus on Rhys, he did the only thing he could: he let out a yelp of fear and tried to turn tail. But the creature was having none of that. A tentacle tore out of the ground, whipping through the air, the spaded tip lined with razored points. Exposed flesh arm caught in its path, the smell of blood hung heavy on the air as Rhys’ skin was shredded, muscle and tissue torn away with such ease that he didn’t even feel it at first. It was only the warmth cascading down his arm and the heavy smell of iron on the air that alerted him to the fact that he’d been wounded. The pain soon followed, starting as a dull sting, working up to throbbing, searing agony. 

Another tentacle rose up into the air from beneath ground, cutting right through Jack’s body with a shimmer of pixels, trying to wind itself around Rhys’ feet.  
“Stomp on it,” Jack shouted at him. “It’s tentacles are vulnerable. Put those fancy-ass fucking boots to use.”

Though he was venturing further into anxiety, Rhys still heard the words loud and clear over the din the thresher was making. He bore down on the tentacle at his feet with one of his heels, grounding it down for good measure. There was an echoing shriek, the beast’s head thrashing as it smacked yet another tentacle against Rhys. The barbed ends of it scraped across metal this time, thankfully, but the movement carried its momentum onward, Rhys’ new shirt ripping across the chest, blood oozing out of the shallow scratches left there. He hissed, trying to back off, stumbling. It was out of shear luck that he caught himself at the last minute. But that’s as far as such luck would take him. Sand parting before it, the thresher was drifting closer.

Jack appeared in front of Rhys as if shielding him, expression apprehensive. “Rhys, listen to me. If you let me access your sub-systems, I can take care of this. I ain’t got time to explain.”

“I-what?” 

“Just do it. Lemme in.” As Rhys spared a glance behind himself, Jack growled, “Tim ain’t comin’ to save ya. It’s just me and you.”

“Alright, alright.” With no room to maneuver, tentacles closing in from most sides, Rhys did some mental gymnastics, pulling down barriers, switching off failsafes until he could feel a strange, almost detached feeling start to course through his cybernetics. It was almost as if he’d been severed from them, left crippled by the sudden lack of senses. 

His cybernetic arm was moving on its own, flexing as the thresher approached, fingers clenching into a fist. The creature was twenty feet, fifteen, five.

Like a battering ram out of control, Rhys’ fist drove forward of its own accord, smashing into one of the thresher’s eyes, the orb bursting, dark fluid exploding from it and cascading down. 

“Shit!” Rhys exclaimed, liquid oozing on to him, body trembling from the impact of the blow. 

His fist pulled back again, aimed for another eye. The thresher was wise this time and reared back. But not before Rhys slammed into him again, missing the eyeball but landing a solid strike to the snout-like area. It all but _screamed_ , tentacles lashing the air, the rest of it swaying as if imbalanced. It began to descend, the sand around it slowly filling in, covering it as if a hole was being dug in reverse.

“We got the bastard! Nice job. High fives all around.”

Finding his arm hanging in the air as if being held fast by invisible strings, Rhys looked over to Jack, surprised to find the AI in the same position.

“How are you even doing that?” he asked. 

He shook his head to clear it, yanking his arm down, realizing he had full autonomy. Whether he’d had it all this time or had just gotten it back, he couldn’t be certain. But he was unnerved by the whole ordeal.

“Later. We better get back to Tim before that monster-shaped asshole comes back with friends. Much as I hate to admit, he’s the guy with the gun around here.” Jack’s eyes were glowing a brilliant yellow. Slowly they bled back to uniform blue, Rhys suddenly feeling as if his mind was emerging from a fog even though there’d been no real presence to speak of. “Maybe you should ask him to hook you up. You can shoot, right?”

“Uh, I can aim. With my ECHO eye.” Blood smeared Rhys’ palm as he reached to assess the damage to his arm, pain flaring up like a wild fire again. “Whoa, boy. That hurts.”  
“Fuck, kid, that thresher really got you good. Better go get you patched up. Don’t need my meat pal bleeding out.” 

Rhys swayed on his feet, vertigo suddenly overpowering him, making him feel like an asteroid colliding with a planet. “Speaking of. I don’t think I feel so well.”

“Rhys?” 

“Yeah?” The other man took a few steps, losing his footing, teetering, his voice wavering. “I’m—I’m just going to lie down for a bit.”

“No, wait, kid. Don’t. That ugly mother probably got slag in your system. Try to fight it.”

“That’s fine.” Arm shooting out to catch on an invisible wall, Rhys’ appendage graced emptiness, flailing as he crumpled. He laid there for a few moments, breathing hard, eyes fluttering. Finally they closed entirely, the man falling into deep sleep.

Before Jack could say anything, work anything out, he found himself fading from existence against his will. 

**XXX**

With deft fingers, Tim had proven to Rhys how efficient he was at dressing wounds, checking the bandage he’d wound around the other man’s arm some time ago. Already Rhys was feeling relief from the pain of much earlier, worry fading from his thoughts. He took a deep, heaving breath and relaxed in the passenger seat of the car beside his traveling companion, staring up at Elpis through the window as if it would reveal all the answers he needed in life. Around them the night was stiller than it had been during the daylight hours, if that was possible.

“I’m so incredibly sorry,” he blurted out, gaze lowering from the moon so it could come to rest on Tim’s face. Even with having gotten used to Tim’s appearance, it occasionally unnerved him to stare at it too long, as if the horrors of what Tim had probably gone through to look like he did could be experienced vicariously. “I wandered off _again_ and of course this shit happens.” 

“Just be glad you’re still alive,” Tim pointed out. “You were feverish for almost a day. I couldn’t drive fast enough in this deathbox to find somebody who’d treat you.”

“I don’t remember any of it.”

“That’s cos you were unconscious for the most part. I kept you as healthy as I could.” At Rhys’ disgraced expression, Tim added, “Didn’t really mind it. I’ve been slagged by surprise before. Hard to avoid sneak attacks by murderous critters on this planet.” 

“So it’s true every inch of Pandora is out to kill you?”

“Well, look at it this way: _how_ many times have you almost died here now?” 

A loud snort sounded from Rhys. “You were pissed about it last time.”

“More pissed that you didn’t even let me knew where you ran off to. Talk about rude.” 

Tim’s voice held a whimsical tone, as if the whole ordeal of killer planets and utter rudeness amused him. He’d been down here long enough that such might be the case, he thought to himself; a type of mental self-preservation that made his thoughts resistant to despair. 

Life as a vagabond, surviving on the fringes of society via merc jobs and moxie ( _not_ the living entity of that word) had thickened his skin until he was a walking callous, put a permanent layer of dirt under his fingernails and a wariness that had set roots down behind his gaze. Lines were etched into his face, the deep grooves evident around his eyes and forehead, last time he’d looked. His outer appearance reflected his internal clockwork, his mental processes weathered and impenetrable.

Still, he’d stuck his neck out for Rhys and stayed at his back thus far, which reminded him he wasn’t devoid of the ability to still care. As much as he shied away from the notion, there was still something inside him that craved human connection, a part of him that hadn’t tumbled off the precipice and surrendered to the abyss. 

Maybe that’s what had separated him from Jack in the end. By the time of his death, the former CEO had devolved into a pale semblance of humanity, incapable of giving a shit about anything but his own ambition and gain. He couldn’t see the flaws in his own designs, couldn’t be reasoned out of irrational beliefs. His vision of the future for Pandora was a fucking _apocalypse_. To raze something to the ground just to sow the seeds of change in its ashes was preposterous, and Tim had rationalized Jack’s actions while he was alive for so long that he’d almost believed in them. Almost. If he’d fallen prey to Jack’s ideology completely, if he’d dove down to the deepest crevices of it and nestled there, he didn’t think there’d have been any hope for him to return. Perhaps he’d have slipped into the Hyperion CEO’s seat after Jack’s passing unnoticed, only the ones that knew of his existence the wiser, and maybe not even then if he claimed it was his doppelganger that had died at the hands of the vault hunters. If fate hadn’t intervened and set him on the straight and narrow once and for all, he’d still be carrying on Jack’s work to this day. 

A head full of ‘what ifs’ was making Tim feel wary, and he needed a remedy before the floodgate opened in its entirety and filled him full of thoughts he couldn’t contain or control. There was a bottle of Pandoran moonshine in his pack that he retrieved without needing to look for, and he gulped down several mouthfuls before breaking away from the rim of the bottle with a hiss.

“What do you have there?” 

Tim snapped his head towards Rhys, almost having forgotten that he was there. It took him several seconds to respond, the liquor proffered to the other man with a slow extension of his arm, as if he were moving through molasses. Rhys squinted at the unmarked bottle and took it from Tim, sniffing its contents and rearing his head back.

“What is this? It smells like the cleaner I use for my cybernetics.” 

“’Shine.”

“That would explain the smell, I guess.” At Tim’s shrug, Rhys braved the wilderness and raised the bottle to his lips. Taking a swig, he immediately sputtered, some of the caustic liquid dribbling down his chin. “Hell, that’s bad.”

“You get used to it.”

“I’d rather not, thanks.”

Tim shrugged again, plucking the liquor back as if it were combustible. Tilting back his head, he swallowed another deep mouthful. The way he depleted its contents, the bottle may as well have been filled with water. Rhys took notice of the fact, his face etched with concern.

“Uhm, is it a good idea to be drinking so much out here at this hour?” he asked, eyes darting around the darkened land beyond the car’s windshield. Aside from a few towering rock formations, it was hard to make out anything not within a few feet without his ECHO eye. Even Elpis’ luminescence couldn’t penetrate the deep, inky darkness of a Pandoran night, it seemed. The fact that daylight dominated the planet’s cycles was somewhat of a relief, though not much, considering that it did nothing to assuage the fact that it was still a rock teeming with wanton death and destruction. 

“Nope,” came Tim’s voice as he emphasized the ‘p’. “I just need to clear my head.”

“I was under the impression alcohol had the opposite effect.”

A whisper of air passed from between the doppelganger’s lips, barely a sigh. Though it would’ve been a relief to explain things to Rhys, let the thoughts buried in the deepest recesses of his brain flow on to his tongue, he just couldn’t bring himself to speak freely. It was not a luxury he’d known during his years under Jack’s oppressive control, and he’d been conditioned to keep his rawest, most personal thoughts and ideas solely between him and the CEO.

“You were out for a goddam long-ass time,” Tim remarked, reiterating the fact as he shifted the subject. “I didn’t think you were gonna make it.”

“Guess I’m tougher than I look, huh?”

“Likely we both are. Though, I dunno. You can’t even handle the ‘shine.”

“Excuse me. I got slag poisoning or whatever after fighting off a thresher. And that was after almost getting killed by some psychopath back in town and finding out who you actually were than having to drive for _hours_ to get absolutely stuck again. Do you really think I should be up to getting shit faced after that?”

“Sure. It’s what we vault hunters do.”

“You’re not a vault hunter anymore. According to you.”

“Sure I am. It’s what you’re after, isn’t it? A vault? What else do you think I’m gonna get out of this?”

A groan escaped Rhys, low and frustrated. He swiped for the bottle in Tim’s hand, but even a bit compromised the man was quicker, holding it aloft. 

“Nuh uh. Lemme have this small comfort. We’ll get back on the road ASAP, I swear.”

“No, you’re not driving. _At all_. Not even when you sober up.”

Tim gave an exaggerated pout, eyes widening akin to a puppy’s. Seeing that look unfold on Handsome Jack’s face of all people was beyond ludicrous, nearly wrenching unexpected laughter from Rhys’ throat. Managing to keep it at bay, he turned away, wanting to ignore Tim at the moment, not at all liking this sudden shift in his behavior.

“I can’t believe after everything so far you’re doing this now,” Rhys remarked, a yawning pit opening in his stomach. 

Above all things, he felt betrayed, though Tim had never really promised him much beyond the fact that he’d be tagging along. Just because he may have blurted his true motives out while under the influence didn’t really count anyway. Did it?

“Shush,” Tim slurred, drawing out the word, eyes twitching in their sockets.

Rhys waited for Tim to explain himself, his expression wiped away, as the other man had sounded almost exactly like his face credit then.

“You hear that?” Tim continued. “That’s, well, that’s not a good sound to be hearing right now.”

“You’re off your damn gourd with that moonshine. Maybe you should try getting some rest.” Attempting a gentler approach, Rhys patted the man’s shoulder. “It’s been a stressful couple days.” 

In the confines of the car’s front seat, Tim’s eyes shone like jewels, the pupils dilating as if he’d injected himself with some potent drug. His hand reached out, grabbing Rhys above his bandage, grip like a vice. The other man was about to voice his discomfort when the sound of shattering glass filled the night, tinkling almost musically in Rhys’ ears. Cackling rose like smoke, the thud of something heavy landing on the car hood next before Rhys even saw the streak of color and skin. The thing moved so nimbly it was like seeing a flash go off, a face covered in painted markings filling his vision. 

_Psychos_ , Rhys thought, wishing for the dozenth time he had his shock baton. Through the broken glass of the windshield, a hand shot out, fumbling to grasp at either him or Tim, shards cutting through its skin but failing to elicit response. 

Something rocked the car, the frame making an ominous crunch, the springs groaning in protest. Rhys reared back as someone pressed against the passenger window, fingers splayed, mouth twisted into a snarl. He could see a face streaked with grime but the eyes were dark pits of nothingness. 

Another hard thunk, more hands reaching through the windshield, knocking the others away. These were more deft and agile, managing to grab Rhys by the front of his shirt.

“Time to pay the piper,” a voice rumbled. 

It could’ve been a random word salad typical of a Psycho. But something seemed too measured, too coherent about it. Things receded as Rhys focused on that fact, his fear ebbing with the realization. Psychos were likely to eat you alive, but bandits would just rob and kill you; a little less terrifying, though not enough to reconsider the dire situation. 

Fumbling with something, Tim was uncoordinated, calmer. The alcohol in his system slowed the attack down to a snail’s crawl, the flailing and battering coming in waves that lapped instead of crashed against the shore of his mind. He finally found what he was looking for, an explosion of light dotted by pixels blinding the both of them for a moment.

_Who needs a hero?_

Above all the things that were accumulating into one giant clusterfuck, the fact that it was Jack’s voice filling the air and that it wasn’t coming from Tim was the thing that caught Rhys’ attention the most. He couldn’t really tell what was going on, but the blue mass of pixels he could make out made him do a double take. At first he thought that by some convoluted phenomenon Tim had managed to summon the AI Jack. That could _not_ be possible. But then he noticed the figure stepping more into his field of vision, the slight variation in color, the burst of concentrated lasers it shot from its wrists. A cacophony of screams filled the night. 

Did Tim have an AI too?

Dark, cancerous blotches painted the side window without warning, another glimpse of translucent blue gracing the blackness. Rhys did a double take. The other figure was still in front of the car, now apparently guarding against further attack.

How many of the things were there?

The car engine roared to life, Rhys forced back against his seat as the vehicle lurched forward. They were cutting along the sand as fast as the piece of shit could carry them, the wind whipping at them like the thresher’s tentacles from earlier. Glass sprayed against Rhys. Tim too, covering them both in minute scratches. 

Then Tim was slamming on the breaks, the car bumping along the sand instead of skittering, rattling them around, neither of them having strapped themselves in. Rhys slammed into the dashboard, deep pain radiating through his sternum. 

And then they were tumbling like particles in a collider, the impact of their bodies making them ricochet and propel against the car frame, Tim’s weight finally falling upon Rhys, making his lungs feel like over-filled balloons. How long they remained like that, neither of them could tell, Tim eventually shifting, using Rhys to lift himself. Bloody saliva dripped from his lip, cascading down his chin. The car had overturned, was lying upside down. Rhys could feel the numbness of shock seizing his body. He didn’t understand how Tim wasn’t as shaken as he was.

“You two best come out of there,” a voice shouted from nearby. “Or we’ll roast you inside like skags on the barbecue.”

Tim crawled forward, grunting in pain, paying little attention that the sharper parts of him were digging into Rhys’ body. 

“Go suck it!” he shouted back, spitting deep red, most of it clinging to his lips. “I bet you won’t even do it, ya goddam coward!”

“Are you _crazy_?” Rhys squawked, finding he was able to speak.

There was a long bout of silence save for shuffling footsteps, which were getting closer with every beat of Rhys’ heart.

“You’re right. I want your ugly, bootleg ass alive when I tear you apart.”

A figure crouched in the darkness beyond the car, face obscured in shadow. But Rhys knew that swift movement, the liquid way in which the form moved; he remembered that voice. How their luck could be so devastating was an enigma. But then again his luck on Pandora hadn’t exactly been stellar.

The air sizzled. Someone cursed. Sand shifted. But it was distant, as if it were happening in another place or time. 

“Those clones you got are real fancy,” came the voice again. “But nothing my boys can’t handle. You gonna come out yet?”

Teeth gritted, Rhys could see Tim’s face twist into something enraged, the scar making him look all the more vicious. Grunting, he used the last of his strength to shove the car door open, shimmying out like a hindered worm. Managing to push his chest off the ground, remaining on his hands and knees, he looked up at his antagonist, expression sober and eyes steely with defiance. 

“Oh, this is going to be _real_ fun.”

Without warning, a boot smashed into Tim’s face, planting directly against his scar. He made a guttural sound and collapsed, spitting expletives. Disregarded for the time being, the figure stepped away from him and came closer to the car.

“I know you’re there, roboboy. Don’t make me kick his ass to lure you from your hidey-hole.” 

For emphasis, Rhys heard a strangled yelp, the agony of it evident. 

Knowing when it was best to give in, lest the consequences be regrettable, Rhys maneuvered himself, gasps of pain wracking him as he made his way out of the vehicle. His legs stable enough to hold up his weight, he wrenched himself to his feet with some effort, finding himself gazing at an all too familiar face. 

“Ah, good to see my dumbass Hyperion buddy again,” Butch said to him, looming in with his signature lack of understanding about personal space. “I’m gonna have real fun taking out all my frustrations of the past few days on you two.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come jabber to me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/MorteAmore) or [Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.io/Morteamore)


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